The Spaces In Between - DISCONTINUED
by IndigoRiot
Summary: In a wild turn of events, new friendships are formed, loyalties tried and limits tested as the teams of the world take part in a new kind of tournament. When a sinister plot unfolds, will they be able to join together and overcome? A/N: The fate of this fic lies in your hands, oh readers, go to my profile and vote! :D
1. Prologue

_**Prologue**_

Mr Dickenson placed down the papers he was holding and laced his fingers together on the desk in front of him. Resting his chin upon them, he stared into the air with a slightly troubled expression on his face. Upon the desk were files of various beyblading teams and their current locations.

He didn't know if initiating this tournament was the right thing to do. It was around one and a half years since the World Championships at Moscow, and he was sure that all the teams he'd planned to invite would be thrilled at the prospect of competing. But, Mr Dickenson had to admit that he, once again, had an ulterior motive. He didn't feel good at all about deceiving the young bladers like this, but he wasn't sure what else he could do.

He picked up the file on his desk that read _Bladebreakers_ and sifted through it. The report was all about the rookie team that took the world by storm – winning the Asian, American and World Championships all at once was no small feat. At the top of the page was a huge, red, bold stamp printed across that read, _'__Disbanded.__' _After that was an informative profile on each blader, stating their name, age, location and other physical attributes.

_Kai Hiwatari, age 17; location – Japan, Tokyo. Attending Whitford Prep. School  
><em>_Tyson Kinomiya, age 15; location – Japan, Bakuten district. Attending Bakuten High  
><em>_Max Tate, age 15; location – Japan, Bakuten district. Home-schooled  
><em>_Rei Kon, age 16; location – China, Hong Kong, remote mountain regions  
><em>_Kenny, 'the Chief,' age 15; location – Japan, Bakuten district. Attending Bakuten High_

Mr Dickenson smiled fondly as he remembered the young, ragtag team. They were full of vigor for the sport, and despite their differences they all bonded well together (eventually) and beybladed like seasoned professionals quicker than he would ever have imagined. He'd had high hopes for those young men right from the start, but they'd done him proud nonetheless. He felt a little bad about using this team as a means to bring down the Abbey – they were too young to have such a burden on their shoulders, and Kai wasn't yet ready to face his past – but he'd received word that Boris' plans would be put into action that year, and Dickenson had to take the initiative and beat him at his own game. It all ended well, and Dickenson could only thank the heavens for that.

Of course, Kai had been the first to disband after the Championships were over and done with. He had never been one to admit weakness, even if that 'weakness' was a growing fondness for his team. Dickenson was aware that the former captain wasn't keeping in contact with the rest of the boys, and this saddened him a little. Still, there was only so much he could do for them. Rei had gone back to his home village in China, but he knew the Chinese boy had no qualms in admitting friendship and that he e-mailed the other three regularly. Tyson, Max and Kenny all lived in the same district, so he assumed they saw each other frequently enough. He could only hope they were all getting along well.

His eyes then shifted to another file on his desk. This one said _Demolition __Boys_ on it and it, too, had a bold red stamp emblazoned across it that read _'__Disbanded.__'_ He picked it up and browsed through these bladers' profiles as well.

_Yuri 'Tala' Ivanov, age 17; location – Russia, Moscow, attending Moscow High  
><em>_Bryan Kuznetsov, age 17; location – America, Michigan, attending Detroit School of Arts  
><em>_Spencer Petrov, age 18; location – Russia, St. Petersburg, attending International Academy of St. Petersburg  
><em>_Ian Papov, age 15' location – Russia, Moscow, attending Moscow High_

Mr Dickenson sighed over the two teams who had separated since the Championships. He recalled the trouble he and the other senior members of the Global BBA had in attempting to locate the families of all those boys from the Abbey after it was shut down. He was glad each of the Demolition Boys had somewhere to call home. Ian's family could not be traced, and after many failed foster homes, Tala's new found parents had offered him a place in their family. Mr Dickenson could only hope they had settled in by now. Mr and Mrs Ivanov were truly a lovely couple, overflowing with love and gratitude that they had been reunited with their long lost youngest son. He had no doubts that their warmth would eventually begin to heal whatever scars the Abbey had left on these teenagers, and mould them into the young adults they were always meant to be.

Spencer, the eldest on the team, had moved to St. Petersburg to live with his Aunt. He'd been orphaned at a young age and was apparently taken to the Abbey by some concerned neighbors who thought they were doing the right thing. And Bryan… Mr Dickenson was ashamed to admit that he had sent the most troubled member of the Demolition Boys halfway across the globe, far away from his team mates, to live with a father who never even bothered looking for him after he'd ran away from home. He suspected that the young man's violent disposition was not only a product of his time at the Abbey, but also of his life before then. He was sorry to have sent him to America, but he'd had no choice. Since Bryan was still a minor and had a family to go to, he would simply have to stay with them until he came of age and could legally make his own decisions.

Mr Dickenson ran a tired hand across his face, before glancing down at the report that had him so troubled. There was a new corporation calling themselves the Beyblade Entertainment Global Association, or BEGA for short, that were causing quite a ruckus in the beyblading scene. The corporation had been holding all sorts of events over the past six months since their debut that advertised the sport of beyblading, as well as promoted their representative team, the BEGA Battalion. Now, this was of no concern to the BBA. It was still the bigger company, and anything that promoted the sport of beyblading was good in their eyes.

No, what concerned Mr Dickenson was the report about the dealings that the scientists at BEGA were taking part in. Every big company worth their salt had its own Secret Service, and the BBA was no different – even more so because of its dealings with entities as powerful as bit beasts. And the intelligence agents of the BBA had discovered some disturbing information, which was now laid out on the table in front of him.

Before there were only rumors, but right now, he had concrete proof. Proof of arcane experiments with bit-beasts, of attempted fusion with the bladers, of a process called 'splicing' and other seemingly impossible things.

Recently, Dr. Barthez, the chief Director of BEGA, had approached Dickenson and asked him for more information on the bladers he was charged with, particularly the winning team, the _Bladebreakers._ Dickenson was reluctant about revealing anything that would compromise the teams he was charged with, but he also knew that Barthez would not hesitate to approach them himself, if he'd wanted. Asking him for information was merely a polite formality. And so Dickenson had come up with the idea of hosting another tournament, under the guise of being a charity event, to gather all the teams together so he could keep a watchful eye on them.

He didn't know what Barthez or BEGA were planning, but he did know that he had a bad feeling about it.

Mr Dickenson gave one more heavy glance towards the stack of envelopes on his desk. There was a small pile for each team he intended to invite: the Bladebreakers, the Demolition Boys, the Majestics, the White Tigers and the All Starz – all were internationally recognised and had great skill in the sport. Two other teams, the Psykicks and the Saint Shields, were two teams of traveling bladers who Dickenson thought would have a lot to offer to the situation. And finally, the BEGA Battalion, who he was inviting so that Barthez might meet the other teams from the BBA under controlled circumstances.

With a heavy sigh, Mr Dickenson stood up from his leather desk chair and went to stand by the window. It was raining, and that did nothing to cheer his mood. The letters of invitation would be sent tomorrow, and he could only hope that the bad feeling he had in his stomach was just his imagination, and that this tournament would have as good an ending as the last.

**–––––––––––––––––––––––––**

_**A/N:** Well, here's the shiny new prologue. I figured I could make it a little more story-like, but still just as informative – and who better to take the spotlight and give out all the necessary details than Mr D himself, the brains of the operation! I know there are probably huge questions addressed in this that want answering, but trust me they WILL be answered later on in the story. :3  
><em>_To cover a few quibbles, YES, I know that the teams were actually called the Barthez Battalion and BEGA respectively, but I have merged them together because I felt like it. So, the members of the BEGA Battalion are Miguel, Matilda, Mystel and Brooklyn. Ha, poor Brooklyn, he's the only member whose name does not begin with 'M.' I suppose I will just have to call him by his surname of Masefield, so he does not feel left out. ;)  
><em>_Don't worry, the whole of the BEGA Battalion actually consists of all of the members from both teams, but only the four I've mentioned above will take part in the actual tournament. Garland, Crusher and everyone else all have a part to play, just much later on in the story. Anyway, enough of my rambling._

_**Updates:** You can expect this story to be updated once a week, every Saturday, unless I state otherwise. If that happens, you can expect to be notified of any delays in advance in the Authors Note at the end of the chapter._

_**Disclaimer:** I'm going to go ahead and put this here, instead of tagging it on to the end of every chapter;  
><em>_**– **Beyblade and all the characters affiliated with the series are copyright to Takao Aoki.  
><em>_**– **The storyline and the few OC's that take part in the story belong to me._

_That is all._

_~Indie_


	2. A Very Welcome Proposition

**Chapter One: A Very Welcome Proposition**

"MAAAAAX!"

Tyson was bellowing at the top of his lungs as he ran full speed out of the dojo and on to the main street.

"Tyyy-son – waait!" called the timid and already out-of-breath voice of Kenny. He came out of the dojo soon after and was running rather awkwardly with Dizzi in his arms, trying to catch up with his loud-mouthed classmate.

"Sorry chief, no time! I've just _gotta_ tell Maxi – MAAXX!"

"TY–SON! You get back here right now!" The shrill voice of Hilary Tachibana rang painfully in Tyson's ears. Soon enough, she had over taken Kenny and was hot on Tyson's heels, clutching a stack of papers under one arm which, one-by-one, fluttered out and trailed behind her as she ran. Poor Kenny was smacked right in the face by one of these papers, and he was left blundering behind as he tried to untangle himself without dropping his precious laptop. "YOU are supposed to be helping ME hand out these leaflets as a punishment for sleeping in class, Tyson, and I am NOT going to let you worm your way out of it like you did last week!" she shrieked.

"Urghh, get lost Hilary!" Tyson growled, "I've got more important things to do right now than hand out your stupid papers!" he yelled over his shoulder, and quickened the pace when he saw how close the screeching girl was. The pair continued to sprint and yell at each other all the way down the street, earning surprised and disgruntled looks from passers-by.

Tyson just didn't understand why Hilary chose today of all days to pester him with her stupid errands. Not that he really appreciated it any other day either, but when he got home after school today his grandpa told him, with a twinkle in his eye, that he had some mail (after, of course, trying to knock his head off with a sneak attack. "Gotta keep yer reflexes sharp, homie!"). Now, Tyson didn't usually didn't get any mail apart from the odd letter or two from his father or brother, so naturally he couldn't wait to see what it was. Imagine his surprise when he saw that it was addressed from the BBA. He ripped it open as quickly as he could and scanned the contents, his eyes brightening and grin widening with every line. _You __have __got __to __be __kidding __me,_ he thought. 'Hey gramps, guess what!' he'd said with a grin.

And that was when Hilary came.

Now he was pounding his way towards his best friend's house with a shrieking harpy on his heels, and a letter clutched firmly in his hand, waiting to see if Max had gotten one too. It was so exciting that Tyson could hardly believe it. He would've asked someone to pinch him so he could find out if it was real or not – but since Hilary's shrieking in his ears was painful enough, he guessed that it couldn't be a dream. Hell, he wouldn't even be dreaming of Hilary in the first place. So obviously, then, this whole thing must really be happening, and Tyson found himself getting more and more hyped up than he already was.

"MAAAAAAX!" he yelled again as he rounded a corner and saw Max's place coming in to view. "You have to see this! – MAAAX!" Tyson came skidding to a halt in front of Max's, just in time to see his father open the door.

"Well, hello there Tyson," he said with a chuckle, "I thought it might be you - I could hear you coming half way down the street."

"Hi, Mr Tate, good afternoon!" Tyson said, so fast that it was hard to tell where one word ended and the next began. "Is Maxi in, there's something I gotta–"

"TY-son!" Hilary yelled. Tyson span around irritatedly and was about to let loose a snarky comment about being interrupted when he was suddenly rugby tackled to the ground by a raving Hilary. "I TOLD you to stop! You're supposed to be helping me!"

"How many times, Hilary? I don't care about your stupid papers! Arghh – I need to speak to Max! I don't have _time_ to hand out leaflets!"

"I'm sure Max won't mind waiting when he finds out you're doing it because you fell asleep in class, again! Not to mention that–"

"–That's besides the point Hilary, because I'm not doing it at all!"

"Yes you are, Tyson!"

"No I'm not!"

The pair continued to shout and kick and roll about on the lawn outside the Tates' house long enough for Kenny to catch up, pink-faced and gasping for breath.

"Oh, hey Kenny," said Mr Tate, turning his head with a smile upon seeing the small bespectacled brunette arrive.

"Good afternoon, Mr Tate," Kenny said. Then, looking at the brawling pair on the ground said, "I'm sorry about those two, by the way. It seems like Tyson's biggest pass time these days is fighting with Hilary – besides eating, of course."

"Oh!" Max's dad said with a laugh, "Don't worry about it. I might be old now, but I remember what it was like to be young and in love." Overhearing this, the said pair immediately recoiled from one another with cries of disgust, much to the amusement of Kenny and the older man.

"Umm, Mr Tate, I don't know if Tyson's said yet, but, he's looking for Max." Kenny said. "Is he home?"

"Sure he is, Kenny. He's just down in the basement working on his blade," he said. "I'll call him up."

"Haha, no need, Dad!" The ever-cheerful voice of Max could be heard from inside the house and, soon enough, he appeared in the doorway behind his father. "I could hear those two loud-mouths all the way downstairs!"

"Oh hey – Max, get out here! I've gotta show you something right now!" Tyson said, his words jumbling together again in haste. He was practically bouncing up and down with excitement, and Hilary kept shooting him unimpressed looks as she started to gather the leaflets that had been scattered during their fight. It was at times like these, she thought, that you realised just why Tyson wasn't fat despite his walrus-like appetite – his mouth simply burned it all off. Max greeted Kenny and Hilary quickly as he stepped out of his house before turning to Tyson.

"What is it, Ty?" Max asked excitedly. "It's gotta be good if its got you all hyped up like this!"

"Ooh, you bet it is Maxi! Have you checked your mail yet?" he asked. The answer was a swift shake of the head. "Well, you better take a look at this then – It's from the BBA!" Tyson said triumphantly, and handed the letter over to Max with a flourish.

Tyson watched eagerly as Max read the letter, his expression becoming more and more excited the further down he read. Mr Tate and Kenny crept up behind him to try and read over his shoulder, but the attempt backfired when Max all but exploded, throwing his arms in the air and jumping up and down, almost hitting them both in the face.

"NO WAY! Are you serious? Tyson, when did you get this!"

"I know, right? I got it today after school!"

"Oh man – I'm gonna go see if I got one too!"

The duo ran over to the mail box at the end of the drive and, sure enough, by the sounds of their whooping it turned out that Max, too, had a letter from the BBA.

In their haste to run over and harass the mailbox, Max had dropped the first letter and it now lay forgotten on the ground. Looking down, Mr Tate noticed it and, skim-reading it quietly, said with a smile, "Ah, so that's what has them so excited."

"What does it say, Mr Tate? I never got a chance to see it before Tyson ran out of the dojo." said Kenny, his curiosity getting the better of him. Besides, if it's from the BBA, Kenny reasoned to himself, it ought to involve him too, since he _was_ a part of team.

"I want to see too. I'd like to know what's keeping Tyson away from his leaflet delivery duty." Hilary said huffily, shooting a dark look over to the celebrating pair.

"Alright, kids," said Max's dad with a chuckle, "I'll read it out,"

_"Dear Tyson Kinomiya,_

_ In light of the recent earthquake tragedy in Haiti, and the massive aid required to get the country back on its' feet, the BBA have decided to take action to raise money and awareness for the help that this unfortunate country so desperately needs. We have decided, therefore, to hold a tournament over the months of July and August this summer in which eight teams will partake. Sixty percent of the money raised in ticket sales will then be given to the relief effort in Haiti at the end of the tournament._  
><em>The tournament itself will be on a similar scale to the World Championships, only different in that there will series of challenges for each blader to compete it, as well the standard bey-battles. At the end of the tournament, a winner will be decided who, along with the two runner-ups, will have the honour of handing the cheque over to a representative of the relief-effort at the final awards ceremony. Further details will be released at a later date. As the current defending World Champions, we hope to see you and your team compete.<em>  
><em>It has been proposed that in the last week of June, before the start of the tournament, all the participating teams will gather at the BBA headquarters in Colorado, America, where you will stay for the two weeks running up to the tournament. It will be an opportunity for you all to meet, train, and spend some time with your fellow bladers from other countries before the competition.<em>  
><em>The other members of your team will have been notified of the upcoming tournament via this letter also. We ask that you get in contact with them if you are not already, and discuss whether your team will be appearing in this event, and then contact your local BBA office to confirm your attendance.<em>

_Best wishes,_

_Mr Dickenson,_  
><em>Head of the BBA"<em>

There was a moment of stunned silence between the pair of brunettes. The first to break it was Kenny.

"Wow, another international tournament?" he said, "no wonder they're so excited." He looked over to Max and Tyson, who were now speculating on the other teams that might appear in the tournament.

"Ughh," droned Hilary, "of course he's excited, Kenny. The only thing Tyson ever puts any effort into is blading." She snarked, with a sidewards glance towards where Tyson and Max were sitting cross-legged near the mailbox.

Tyson, overhearing this, replied over his shoulder, "Ha! You're only saying that 'cause you're jealous that I'm better at something than you are!"

"I am not! And just why exactly would I even want to blade, Tyson? All you do is stare and shout at your beyblade - and then get all hot and sweaty during matches 'cause of all your shouting." she said, huffily. Mr Tate, sensing another argument brewing, handed the letter to Kenny and went back inside the house, shaking his head with a chuckle and muttering something about 'kids.'

"I'll have you know, Hilary," said Tyson, swiveling around on his bottom and narrowing his eyes at her from across the lawn, "that blading is actually a very technical sport, requiring _a __lot_ of skill and discipline."

"Ha! Which, I'm sorry to break it to you, Tyson, you don't have any of," she replied, folding her arms and looking down her little button nose at him.

"Argh, right––!" Tyson bristled, "that's it!" He rose up from the grass and started marching over to her, but not before Max slung and arm over his shoulders and stopped his onslaught towards his class-president.

"Hey you two, lighten up! You're forgetting that we also blade because its fun, right?" he said, looking between the pair of hot-heads, playing the peacemaker.

In truth, Hilary did quite like to watch Tyson and Max when they bladed. At first the sport baffled her and seemed completely stupid, but the more she watched them blade, the more interested in it she became. Eventually, she started to help them train with Kenny, if only because she enjoyed annoying Tyson by ordering him around outside of school as well as in it. She even went to watch the regionals this spring, and cheered him and Max on. Of course, she still thought the sport was silly, but it was the people who played it that she found fascinating. And, of course, she _had_ tried her hand at blading once and she really _was_ terrible at it, which annoyed her to hell. But she'd never admit that to Tyson – it would only give him more ammunition to use against her, which he didn't really need.

"And also," Max continued, snapping Hilary out of her little reverie, "we're going to be in a tournament this summer! How awesome is that? The bladebreakers are gonna be a team again!"

Tyson immediately lightened up again. "Haha, yeah! Man, I can't wait to face it off against the world again, as a team! _The Bladebreakers_ – kicking ass, all over the globe!" He then struck a victory pose, for dramatic effect. "Oh - wait," he said, his brow furrowing, "what about Kai? We don't even know where he is. That sourpuss has dropped right off the face of the earth for all we know."

"Don't worry about it Tyson, he'll have got a letter too, remember? And I'm sure Rei'll be psyched for it, so he'll help us convince Kai, once we figure out where he's hiding!" said Max, ever the optimist.

"Yeahh, you're right Maxi. Besides," Tyson said, looking smug, "everyone _knows_ Kai loves me anyway. Underneath his cold steel bastard routine, he's really just a big ol' softy," he said, snickering. Then he had a lightbulb moment. "Oh, hey, Maxi, fancy a match? To get into the spirit of things?"

"You bet!" said Max, already removing his blade from its holder on his belt. "I gotta warn you though, Tyson, Draciel's just had a makeover - he's tougher then ever!"

"Pfft," Tyson said nonchalantly, preparing his blade as they trash-talked, "You're the one that needs to watch out, Max. Me 'n Dragoon aren't taking any prisoners today."

"Oh, hey guys, let me referee!" Cried Hilary, scooting over to position herself beside the two bladers.

"Oh, sure, Hil, but only if you think you can keep up," Tyson snarked.

"Ugh, would you just shut up and ready your launcher!" She snapped. The two boys got into position. Kenny sat down against the house and opened Dizzi, preparing to record the battle. No time like the present to help them improve their game for the upcoming tournament. "Okay, guys, ready?" Hilary started.

"Ready," they said in unison.

"Okayy–!" Hilary said, suddenly animated. She raised her arm, ready to count down, "Three, two, one–"

" – LET IT RIP!"


	3. Rekindled Rivalry

**Chapter Two: Rekindled Rivalry**

"Oh, but Enrique-pooh, you promised!"

"Hey, ladies, look. I _know_ I promised I'd take you out on my yacht this afternoon, but an old friend of mine has just dropped by, and I wouldn't really be a gentleman if I just left him waiting around now, would I? Especially since he's travelled all this way."

Enrique put on his most charming face as he tried to reason with the two girls in front of him. They were both stood outside his front door pouting at him, and he couldn't help but think how cute girls were when they were disappointed. He noticed that the little curly-headed brunette was looking particularly adorable today. Damn Johnny and his surprise visit. Enrique was almost annoyed enough to just go out on the lake and _make_ him wait around all afternoon. However, he knew how impatient Johnny was and, if he was honest, the tall red-headed blader did frighten him a little.

"But Enrique-pooh, what about _us_?"

"Yeah ~ it's not really gentlemanly of you to cancel your plans with us, either!"

"Hey, girls, don't be so sad! I promise I'll make it up to you. How about this, we'll go shopping tomorrow instead, my treat," he hedged, looking hopeful.

"Hmm, I don't know, I was really looking forward to going out on the boat..." said the blonde wistfully.

"Me too," replied the brunette. "But… well, there was this one dress I saw last week–"

"Oh, the blue one? Marie, you should totally get that, it would look so nice on you!" said the blonde enthusiastically.

"You think so?"

"Yeah! It would totally go with your eyes!"

"Well, that's settled then - shopping tomorrow it is." Enrique threw an arm around each girl and began to escort them down the courtyard, in true gentleman-fashion. "We'll have to see if we can't find a nice little outfit for you too, Sophia. Maybe green, to go with _your_ eyes," he offered, receiving a cheerful chorus of _"__ahhh! __Thanks, __Enrique-pooh~~!__"_ in return.

When Enrique finished seeing the girls off to the gate, he returned to find Johnny in his private guest lounge who was sprawled messily over one of the velvet couches with his boots resting on the coffee table. His _Italian rosewood, intricately hand carved_ coffee table. It was a rare known fact, but the one other thing Enrique had a weakness for, besides beautiful ladies, was expensive furniture. "Johnny, please get your feet off my ta-"

"You're pathetic, Enrique." Johnny stated bluntly, without even so much as a 'hello.' And he sure as hell didn't take his feet off the table.

Enrique blinked, a little taken aback by Johnny's sudden insult. "What?" he said, as he moved to take a seat opposite Johnny. He was picking at his nails with the corner of an envelope, and didn't even bother looking up as his Italian friend sat down.

"You know they only want you for your money, right?" he said.

Enrique's brow furrowed. "What? No they don't! What's to say they don't like me for my charming personality and boyish good-looks?" He said this with such seriousness that Johnny just had to laugh, which of course only made Enrique more disgruntled. "Well, whatever. I say you're just jealous because you don't even know how to _talk_ to girls."

Johnny then sobered up, and bristled. "What? I _do_ know how to talk to girls - I just choose not to because I don't need them hanging off my arms all the time. Plus, I don't need the ego boost like you do."

"Pfft, please - the only girl you've ever known how to talk to without making a fool of yourself is Rachel, and _she_ doesn't count. Besides, you're the one with the ego, not me."

"Hn, whatever." Johnny scowled and folded his arms, but obviously didn't have anything to retort at this point in time. Enrique smirked and performed a little victory dance in his head - it wasn't often he managed to win an argument with Johnny and not get punched for it.

"Anyway, what are you here for, Johnny? I'll have you know I postponed a date with two very beautiful ladies for this, so it better be good."

Johnny's eyes flashed in annoyance and Enrique decided not to push his crimson-headed friend any further. As far as he was aware, he wasn't scheduled for an appointment with Johnny's fist and he'd very much like to keep it that way. After a few seconds of heated glaring, Johnny held up the envelope he'd been toying with between two fingers for Enrique to see. "I presume you've received one of these?"

Enrique squinted at the envelope from across the coffee table, (which, by the way, Johnny still had his dirty feet resting on) and he recognised it as being similar to the one he'd received last week from the BBA. "Yes, I have. What about it?"

"Well, what d'you think?"

"About the tournament? Well, I _guess_ it's a nice idea and all - if its for charity." Enrique replied, shrugging. "Why?"

"It says that eight teams will be competing." Johnny said, seriously.

"Yeah, so?" Enrique asked, feeling like he was missing something. "Why are you so interested about it? We've bladed together as a team before with Robert and Oliver, but that was just a one off. Why would we want to enter this tournament when it's not even-"

"You know the Bladebreakers will be there." Johnny stated, interrupting him mid-sentence.

Enrique blinked in reply, now seriously feeling that he was missing the point. They had battled the Bladebreakers before the World Championships at Moscow in an all-or-nothing stand-off. In the end, the better _team_ won - and they, 'the Majestics' had lost. However, Enrique also knew that when they'd battled with them one-on-one, he, Johnny, Oliver and Robert walked all over their little team. So as far as he was concerned, there was no enmity between them. But now Johnny was confusing him by suggesting otherwise. "So?" He asked. "Do you want to battle them again or something?"

"Think about it, Enrique," Johnny said, leaning forward and placing his elbows on his knees. His boots, Enrique saw thankfully, were now removed from the table. "They wiped the floor with us the last time we battled! It was humiliating! And here we are, given a golden opportunity to prove to them who the better bladers really are, and all you can say is '_so'_!"

Enrique leaned back, a little suprised at his Scottish friends intensity. His fists were balled up and his lavender eyes were burning with anticipation. Johnny was always competitive, but in an arrogant and superior way. This time, though, Enrique thought he looked more like the aggressive underdog with a chip on his shoulder and something to prove. Johnny's competitiveness was rolling off him in waves, and suddenly, Enrique found himself rather enjoying the prospect of battling the Bladebreakers again. "Well, now that you mention it, I would quite like to get back at Tyson for beating me that time in Rome. He's had over a year to improve since then, and it's been so long since I've battled someone worth my time," he added, thoughtfully.

"Exactly! And Kai's been long overdue a beating at the hands of me and Salamalyon." Johnny said forcefully. He was standing up now and pacing around the room, unable to sit still in his agitated state.

"Yeah, I'm not surprised you feel that way, Johnny. It was almost _embarrassing_ how badly he beat you," Enrique snarked, but then flinched with a slight 'eep!' as Johnny's eyes flashed dangerously in his direction again.

At that moment Enrique's butler entered the room, and quite possibly saved him from a slight beating and the hands of a somewhat enraged Johnny. "Good afternoon Master Enrique, Master Jonathon," he began, offering a small, stiff bow to each, "now that you are settled in I wonder if I might interest you in some refreshments?"

"Oh, thanks Piddlesworth, but I think we're okay in here," Enrique replied, leaning over the back the couch.

"Very well, Master Enrique." He then made to leave the room, but then returned, saying, "Also, may I remind you that your Math tutor will be arriving within the hour."

Johnny snickered cruelly as he flopped back down on the couch while Enrique groaned in response. "Yes, Piddlesworth. Thank you." The butler then bowed himself out of the room, leaving the two to resume their conversation.

"So," Enrique began, with a clear air of depression around him now that his Math session was unavoidable. If he was out on the lake with the girls he could have avoided it, but no, Johnny had to turn up and spoil his plans. "Have you spoken to Robert or Oliver about it yet?"

"I tried getting Robert on the telephone, but he was too busy to speak, apparently. You know that his father passed away recently, right?" Johnny asked.

"Oh, crap, yeah." Enrique said. He'd heard Oliver mention it on the phone last week, but had completely forgotten about in until now.

"Well, I spoke to Gustav who said that since Robert has now inherited his father's entire estate and business, he was really busy with managing papers and files and couldn't get to the phone, so I didn't actually get to speak to him. I visited Oliver a couple days ago before coming here –"

"– and what did he say? I'll bet he's not interested since his restaurant is going so well." Enrique remembered the last time he'd seen his petite green-haired friend. He cooked up a meal so delicious he thought he'd died and gone to food-heaven.

"Yeah, that's exactly what he did say," Johnny said, folding his arms. "But I think he can be persuaded."

"Yeah, you're right." Enrique agreed. "Soo… all we need now is Robert. Hey, what's the time difference between here and Germany?"

"There isn't any."

"Oh, great, so we can try and phone him now then. Hey, Piddlesworth!" Enrique called over his shoulder. Enrique began rehearsing how exactly he was going to persuade Robert to join them in the tournament while he waited for his butler to arrive. Soon enough, he came through the door and enquired what it was the young master required. "Hey, could you please get Robert on the phone for me, there's something Johnny and I need to ask him about."

"Of course, Master Enrique." Piddlesworth departed the room momentarily before returning with a leather-bound address book. From his sprawled out position on the couch, Johnny rolled his eyes and muttered something about Enrique being too idle to lift a finger as Piddlesworth dialed the Jurgen household telephone number for him. He then handed Enrique the telephone, and left the room. The dialing tone rang several times before it was picked up at the other end.

– _Good afternoon, Jurgen private-line –_

"Hey, Gustav! It's me, Enrique."

– _Hello Young Master Enrique, how may I be of assistance? –_

"Well, I was wondering if I might speak to Robert, actually. There's something _really_ important I need to ask him." Johnny rolled his eyes as he listened in on Enrique's side of the conversation, as if anything the tousle-haired playboy had to say would be important to Robert.

– _I'm awfully sorry, Master Enrique, but Master Robert is very busy at the minute. Might I take a message? –_

"Not really, no. It's really very important you see, and I need to speak to Robert personally. I understand he's busy, Gustav, but if he won't speak to me now, I'll just keep ringing until he does," he said petulantly. Enrique could hear the sound of Gustav speaking rather apologetically in the background and, not two minutes later, there was a voice at the receiver again - this time, it was Robert.

– _What it is, Enrique –_

Enrique winced slightly at the sound. It was brief and clipped in typical Robert style, but there was also something else. He sounded tired, and strained. He remembered the recent death of Robert's father, and how he now had the management of his whole estate and family business resting on his shoulders. Suddenly the idea of phoning up about a tournament seemed very insensitive. Especially since he has used such a childish threat to get through to him. It was with much less determination, then, that he said into the receiver, "Hey.. Robert. How're you doing?"

There was silence.

"Look, I er, I know it's not really a good time, but… I've got a letter from the BBA and I was wondering if you'd gotten one too?"

More silence.

"About… er, about the tournament?"

– _...Is Jonathon with you? –_

"Umm, yeah, he's right here.."

– _Well, I shall tell you the same thing that Gustav told him. That I am sorry, but I am incredibly busy right now, and will be for some time. Therefore, there is just no way I can be a part of this –_

Enrique suddenly felt very small, and very guilty for hassling Robert. "Yeah, sorry man. It's just, I thought, maybe –"

– _However, if you, Jonathon and Oliver wish to take part, then I have no objections. I may have been the captain of our team, but that was merely under a one-off circumstance. If you find someone else you think good enough to enter the tournament with you in my stead, I will bear no resentment –_

"Oh, well umm, okay then. Thanks" he said, with a glance over to Johnny, "I guess we'll think about it."

– _Well. If there is nothing else, then, I shall say goodbye –_

"Oh, Robert, wait! I.. I'm sorry to hear about your father. Listen, if there's anything I can do…" he trailed of awkwardly, not quite knowing what to say, but feeling as though he should at least say something.

– _...Thank you. Good luck –_

Then he hung up the receiver with a click.

"So, what did he say?" Johnny said after a few moments.

"He said that he's too busy and can't do it," the blonde replied, looking pensive. "He also said that he doesn't mind if we enter, we'll just have to find someone else to take his place."

"Pfft, yeah, like who? Can you think of anyone, because I can't." Johnny scoffed.

Enrique thought intensely for a while, acquiring that spaced out look that he always got whenever he thought too hard. "Hey!" he said, coming up with an idea. "What about Rachel? She could do it, she was always pretty good with a blade."

"Nope." Johnny dismissed his idea without even a second thought. "She doesn't blade anymore, remember?"

"Yeahh, but, come on Johnny. It's been nearly three years now, right? I'm sure she'll have gotten over it at least a little by now." Enrique's voice had taken on that whiney sound like it always did when he was trying to reason with someone. It seemed that somehow the tables had turned, and it was Enrique who really wanted to enter the tournament, and Johnny needed persuading.

"Yeah, so she's probably terrible at it by now," Johnny replied with annoyance, "especially if she hasn't picked up a blade since then. Three years is a long time."

"You're right, three years _is_ a long time, so she _should_ be fine with it."

Johnny was about to bite back when Piddlesworth entered the room again. "Master Enrique, your Math tutor has arrived."

"Yeah, yeah, thanks Piddlesworth. Just give us a minute." He bowed stiffly and left the room.

"She won't do it, Enrique," Johnny continued.

"Look," Enrique said, standing up from the sofa and putting his hands on his hips, "do you or don't you want to battle in this tournament?"

"Yes, I do –"

"Well then we're going to need a forth blader. I'll work on Oliver," he said, pointing to himself as he began to walk towards the window, "because I know him best. And you can work on Rachel, because you've known her longer. All you have to do is phone her and try."

Johnny looked at him as though he were going to refuse, just on sheer principle of _Enrique_ of all people giving him orders. But he didn't, he just folded his arms and looked away, saying, "Fine. But if it doesn't work –"

"– Then we'll just have to think of someone else. That Fernandez guy from Spain or something. But for now, we'll just have to work with what we've got. Okay?"

"Sure, whatever."

"Great!" said Enrique with a flourish. "Now, come over here and help me with this window," he said as he tried to budge it open.

Johnny, smirking as he realized what the blonde was up to, rolled his eyes and helped him push the window up. "No wonder you're so thick, ditching all your classes like this."

"It's street-smarts versus book-smarts my friend," replied Enrique, also smirking, "It's why I get all the ladies, and you don't get any - arghh-ouch – hey!" Johnny shoved Enrique out of the way in response to his comment and climbed through the window before him, dropping down neatly into the grounds. Fortunately, they were only on the second floor.

Piddlesworth, hearing the sounds of their scuffle, came into the room and was met with the sight of Enrique half-way through the window, one leg outside and one inside. "Bfmprbh, Master Enrique! I really must protest!"

Immediately, Enrique dropped himself from the ledge and landed in a rather clumsy heap to the left of Johnny, who smirked at the Italian's incompetence. Piddlesworth dashed to the window, only to see that Enrique had picked himself up and was now running towards the gates.

"Sorry Piddlesworth, gotta run!"


	4. Looking Back, Moving Forward

_This is the longest chapter so far, and it's a little slow I'm afraid, but please bear with me, I'm just setting up the scene before we get to the real action._

_Please, if you have the time, be nice enough to drop me a review, big or small!_  
><em>I'd really appreciate it, plus I'd like to know what you all think. :)<em>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Three: Looking Back, Moving Forward<strong>

Bryan cussed as he opened the door to his house and tripped over the mail lying on the ground. He unceremoniously swatted the brown paper parcel and letters off to the side with his boot before sparing a moment to glare in the direction of the living room. He then stalked up the stairs towards his bedroom, paying no more attention whatsoever to the man that lay sprawled out on the couch, or to the number of empty beer bottles that lay at his feet.

As soon as Bryan entered his room, he closed the door and fastened the chain lock that he'd fitted within a week of his moving in. If he was going to live with the bastard, he sure as hell wasn't going to have him encroach on his personal space. The less he had to see of his father, the better. _Father_, he thought venomously, he's not even fit to be called a _man._

Without further ado, Bryan dropped his heavy rucksack onto the floor, kicked off his boots and threw himself onto the bed, opening his laptop. He then began searching the wi-fi lines for someone's internet he could leech off. Soon enough, he found that Mr. and Mrs. _please __no __more __grindcore __at __3am_ from across the street had an open line. Bryan smirked at the feeling that someone was trying to tell him something. He didn't even like grindcore if he was completely honest. It was too loud even for his taste, just a little too much like _noise_ than actual music. He only played it because it pissed his father off more than anything else he listened to. Particularly if it was played at three o'clock in the morning. He swiftly connected himself up to the wi-fi without any apology, and signed into windows messenger. But no one of interest was online, so he cast his mind upon other matters.

Thinking about his Math paper that was due in for Friday, Bryan turned his eyes to his rucksack on the floor, which, by the way is where pretty much everything else in Bryan's room happened to be kept – shoes, books, clothes, the lot. In fact, the only things that that _weren__'__t_ situated in what _should_ have been a walking area was his laptop computer, which normally lay on his bed and which he'd paid for using a sum of money Mr. Dickenson gave him before he left him in America; his guitar, which he'd worked his ass off for the past year so he could buy; and his blade and launcher, which were resting on the shelf along with a pile of CD's and his beat-up stereo. The walls were plastered with posters of various rock and grunge bands, and the room smelt distinctly of smoke. It was a habit he'd picked up in the Abbey when he'd turned 13. As long as they won their matches and performed their military drills to perfection, Boris didn't give two shits about what the boys in his Abbey got up to in their spare time, and if that involved the older kids sneaking out and bringing in alcohol and cigarettes then so be it.

Dismissing the math paper for another time, Bryan got up off his bed and shuffled across his small room towards his stereo player. Sorting out the Foo Fighters album he'd borrowed from Kyle last week, he set it on play and turned the music up to a decent enough level. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Taking a cigarette out, he lit it and took a long drag before depositing the lighter and the pack back into his pocket. He then opened his window wide and leaned out of it for a smoke.

"OI - what'd'you think you're fucking playing at?" Bryan turned around disinterestedly toward the muffled banging and shouting behind his bedroom door. His only response was to narrow his eyes defiantly at the door and take another drag of his cigarette. The door was suddenly forced forward as the person behind it tried to open it – however, since Bryan had left the chain on the lock, it only opened a mere three inches, greatly angering the person behind it. He glared at Bryan from between the gap and threatened menacingly, "I swear to God, Bryan, you better turn that shit down before I –"

The specifics of his threat were drowned out as Bryan responded by turning the music _up_. Turning back around again to lean out of the window, he thoroughly ignored a final pounding on the door from the man who looked nothing like him. Bryan's father was tall, with muddy brown hair and hard, dead, steely blue eyes. Bryan, with his pale purple/grey hair and light grey eyes, looked nothing like him – and for this he was truly grateful. He didn't need a visual reminder of the bastard every time he saw his own reflection.

Bitterly, he snubbed out the stub of his cigarette and flicked out of the window, where it joined the countless other little stubs beneath his bedroom. He stayed there staring outside for a few moments with an unreadable expression on his face, before reaching down to the draws under his bed and taking out a letter. Slumping down on to the bed he surveyed the letter, not for the first time, still with an unreadable expression on his face.

Bryan didn't know why, but the letter from the BBA had taken him completely by surprise. It wasn't because he hadn't seen his team mates since the World Championships – Tala's new-found parents were ridiculously understanding _and_ generous, (a trait which Tala and Ian, who was somehow living with them too, never failed to exploit) and they'd even paid for Bryan to come over and visit him over Christmas. Spencer had come down from his Aunt's in St. Petersburg for a weekend and made their little group complete. During his time over there, he'd realized just how well the pair had it made. The pleasant couple's kindness was really rubbing off on Tala and Ian. The red-headed captain was still as arrogant and bossy as ever, and always ready with a quick remark or snarky comment, but Bryan noticed it was always more in a joking manner now, instead of a cold one. Ian was an annoying little runt as always, but he, too, seemed lighter – happier. They both did.

His hesitation had nothing to do with the fact that he didn't want to blade, either. Fuck knows he'd jump at the chance to battle someone worth his time, but the truth was there just no one in his neighborhood good enough for him to even glance sideways at. And that wasn't him being cocky - it was just the truth. One didn't endure years of rigorous, back-breaking training at the hands of a power-crazy fucker just to be on par with the average teenage rookie. So as he sat down on his bed staring at the letter, Bryan tried to think about just what it was that was holding him back.

He was snapped out of his reverie at the sight of a tiny little arm snaking its way around the gap in his bedroom door, its chubby little fingers stretching up and reaching for the chain. Bryan quickly leapt up off his bed and turned his music down to background-noise level, before striding over to the door and letting the chain off the catch to let the small boy in.

He looked up at Bryan with big, round, olive coloured eyes and beamed at him. "Hey, Bryan!"

Bryan raised his eyebrows at the child's enthusiasm and said, "Hey, kid." He then shuffled the boy into the room and closed the door again, putting the chain on the catch once more.

He watched as his kid brother waded his way around the mess on his floor and hitched himself up on his bed to take a seat. Bryan flopped himself down on the bed next to him, and the child giggled as his elder brother's weight caused him to bounce around. "So. Tyler," he said, roughly ruffling his ash-brown hair. "What's up?"

"Nothin'. What's up wiv' you?"

"Nothing," he replied, leaning back and folding his arms.

"Cool." Bryan smirked as he saw Tyler leaning back and folding his arms too.

After the Abbey was closed down and Bryan was told they'd found his father, and was going to have to live with him, he was furious. As far as he was concerned, the man was a waste of space. When he was growing up the man was always drunk, and always threatening he and his mother. Whenever Bryan tried to get in the way and make his father stop bullying her, he'd hit him. And she just stood there.

He still remembers what she looks like, just. She had soft, cropped lilac hair, and sparkling blue eyes. Blue, not grey - Bryan wasn't sure where he got _his_ eyes from.

One day, she disappeared. He came back from school one day and all her clothes were gone, and she wasn't there. Then his father got even worse. He was always shouting at him and threatening him. Just the very sight of Bryan was enough to make the man fly into a rage. It was _his_ fault, he said, that she left. The only thing he'd wanted was torn to pieces, and it was _all his fault_.

Bryan spent most of his childhood avoiding the stupid man. He hated him because he was bigger than him, because he was scary, and because he always smelled of alcohol. He hated him because he made his mother leave. And he hated _her_ because she left. Bryan shrunk further and further into himself, never letting anyone in because they'd only hurt him too. If he didn't care about _them_, then it wouldn't hurt if they didn't care about _him_, either.

When he was eight years old, he ran away from home one night and found himself in front of the huge wooden doors of the Abbey. It was snowing and cold and windy, and before he knew what he was doing, he was pounding on the door with his small fists. He wanted to _be_ somewhere else and _do_ something else other than dodge his fathers careless words and raised hands. He wanted to be strong so that no one could hurt him anymore.

So he trained. And trained.

He became stronger. Ruthless. He met other boys at the Abbey who became his comrades, and he knew that they would fight for him as long as he would fight for them – they were in this together. He didn't know if he could call them his friends, but they weren't his enemies. And they weren't his father.

He didn't know if he agreed with Boris' plans for them or not. He knew that there was more to the Abbey than a mere orphanage turned beyblade academy, they all did. They were being trained to become soldiers. Soldiers that would keep order in Boris' New World. Soldiers that would terrorize all the families out there, regardless of whether they were happy or not.

Bryan didn't know if he really wanted to be one of these soldiers. He didn't know if he wanted to be the one tearing happy families apart, because he knew what it was like to be scared. But Bryan also knew that soldiers are strong. Boris had given them a purpose and, as long as they didn't fail that purpose, nothing bad would happen to him, and he would become stronger.

But he did fail. They all did. And then he was separated from the young men he'd fought for and with, and sent away to live with the father he hated.

He'd moved to Michigan soon after Bryan left, apparently. He didn't even bother looking for him when he ran away. He was from America originally, and only moved to Russia to be with his mother in the first place. The woman who left them both.

When Bryan arrived at the airport, there was no one there to greet him. He had to call a cab on his own, and paid for it with the money Dickenson gave him. He would've been grateful to the old man, but it was _him_ who sent him here in the first place.

When he arrived at the house, he was surprised to see that his father had gotten himself a new woman. She was blonde and pretty with warm olive-coloured eyes, and she had a little boy of no more than three bouncing on her hip. He looked just like her. It was she who showed him where he'd be sleeping. His father didn't even give him the time of day. But the three of them seemed happy enough.

It didn't take long, though, before the arguments and threats became common place in the house once more. Bryan's very presence was enough to rile the older man. Kate pitied him for the indifferent, and often aggressive way his father treated him, and often tried to speak up in his defense. Bryan didn't need anyone to fight for him, though. He was bigger now, and strong enough to fight for himself. But he appreciated the gesture. Until she left, too.

It was some months after Bryan had moved in. The arguments, fist fights between the two men, and threats got increasingly worse, up to the point where she just couldn't take it anymore. She'd threatened to leave and take Tyler, and even Bryan if he wanted, with her – a battle ground was no place for a child to grow up in, she said. And Bryan had never seen his bastard of a father so mad before. Tyler was _his _son, and _nobody_ was fucking going to take him away.

Bryan came home from school that day to the sounds of shouting, screaming and crying, and he opened the front door to a scene that was all too familiar. That sorry excuse for a man was knocking his wife about, and she was desperately trying to defend little Tyler from the sight of it by using her own body as a shield. Just like his own mother tried, once.

Bryan saw red. He never could stand men who beat women. They were fragile and weak. Men should be protecting them, not raising their fists to them. And any man who hit a woman wasn't worth the dirt they stood on.

He pulled his father off her and punched him in the jaw, putting his whole weight behind the blow. The fight that erupted bacame an all out brawl. This time, every punch his father gave he returned with equal measure. Bryan had underwent close-combat training like everyone else at the abbey, and he could easily have incapacitated his father if he wanted to. But he didn't. All he cared about was inflicting as much pain on the man as possible, no matter how many hits he received in return. Until, that is, his father smashed a beer bottle into his face. Then Bryan saw black.

He woke up the next day in the exact same place, covered with his own blood and sore all over. He was sure one or two of his ribs were cracked. His father was sitting in the arm-chair with his head in his hands. Tyler was curled up in the corner of the room, sleeping, with tear-stained cheeks. Kate was gone.

Ever since that day, Bryan made it his personal mission to make sure that Tyler had someone to look out for him. This little boy would _not_ have the same upbringing that he suffered. The bastard was never outrightly abusive towards the little boy like he was with his first-born, but he was negligent. And that wasn't good enough.

And so he had been fiercely looking after the child ever since.

Bryan was snapped swiftly out of his thoughts and brought back in to the present by the sensation of little hands tugging something from his own, bigger hand. With one hand, he was absentmindedly tracing the scar that ran down from his left cheek to his jaw, courtesy of his father's beer bottle, and Tyler, taking advantage of his elder brother's distraction was attempting to hijack the letter that was in Bryan's other hand – the letter that had been taking his attention away from him for the past week.

"Hey," he said gruffly, "what're you trying to do?" He might've been practically acting the role of his caregiver for the past year, but Bryan still didn't have even the patience of a pea.

"I'm try'na read the letter!" Tyler whined.

"Pfft," Bryan scoffed, "Ty, you can't read yet." He rolled his eyes internally at himself. He was teasing a four year old. He needed to get a life.

"I can too!" Tyler replied, and shot his elder brother a very Bryan-worthy death glare.

Bryan raised his eyebrows and decided to humour him. "Okay then," he said, handing him the letter, "go ahead."

He watched in slight amusement as his kid brother tried to make sense of all the letters on the page, his little face screwing up in concentration. He looked more like his father than Bryan did. His brown hair was the same, as was the shape of his eyes. But he had all of Kate's softness in his young face, and her kindness too. " … I can't doo it," he muttered, giving up after a few moments and pouting. "What z'it say?"

Bryan smiled a rare and genuine smile as he took the letter back. "It's from the BBA. It's about beyblading." He explained briefly.

Tyler's eyes lit up at that. Bryan knew the kid loved blading, and he was always asking him to teach him. And he did. He bought him a junior beyblade set for Christmas, and even let him launch Falborg a couple of times. After he'd taken the bit out, of course. Releasing a bit-beast powered blade before you're ready is dangerous business. Everyone knew that. "Ree~eally?" he drawled. He was so American, Bryan thought. "What else does'it say?"

"Apparently, there's a gonna be a tournament this summer. The letter's asking me if I want to go and fight in it with my team," he said.

"Wiv' your friends that you went to see at Christmus?" Tyler asked, with eyes that sparkled with such intensity for a four year old.

"Yeah, those guys."

Then came the explosion.

"Way coooool~~!" Tyler was bursting with excitement, bouncing up and down on the bed. Bryan swiftly closed and laptop and placed it on the floor, lest his kid brother's foot should go through the screen. "Hey Bry~, aw'you gonna go? Pleeease do it! Will it be on the tee-vee?"

"Urgh, I dunno, maybe. Shit, Tyler, sit down. Look," he said, grabbing the child by the shoulders and ceasing his bouncing, "if I go, it means you'll be left alone with dad for a while."

At these words, Tyler's face fell for just a moment, but then he brightened it up again, hardly missing a beat. But Bryan still caught it. "That's okay! I can look'after myself!" he said, beaming. " 'Nd you miss your friends too, dont'cha Bry." He said, suddenly getting serious. Bryan was taken aback, not for the first time, by this kid's level of maturity, albeit inconsistent. "It'snot good being lonely."

If he was honest with himself, the reason Bryan was hesitating about this tournament is because he didn't want to leave his brother alone with their prick of a father. He was pretty sure he wouldn't knock him around, because he seemed to actually love Tyler, in his own stupid way. But he couldn't be certain that Tyler'd get all the attention he needed. Not that Bryan himself always managed this, but hell, at least he tried.

But looking into the eyes of this little boy that were full of admiration and expectation for _him_, he found himself rethinking his options. Tyler was looking at him like he was his _hero,_ and Bryan just couldn't let him down.

He was going to have to make a couple of phone calls.

He looked at the little analogue clock on his stereo display. Just past four o'clock. Moscow was nine hours in front of Michigan, which meant that it was about one in the morning over there. Whatever, he was going to call anyway. Tala's parents did say he could call anytime. So he was just about to take them up on that.

"Oi, kid, get your shoes on," Bryan ordered, giving him a little shove off the bed. He started rummaging around his room for his wallet and keys. And another pack of fags.

"Whyy? Where we goin'?" Tyler asked, watching as his brother started picking up shirts off the floor, looked underneath them, scowled, then dumped it back before moving to the next one. They were going to Kyle's house. There was no way Bryan's father would even let him have five minutes on the landline in peace, let alone make an international call.

"Over to Kyle's – I need to use his pho –"

"Kyle's? Yessss! Cann I play on his Wiiii?" he asked excitably.

"Err, sure yeah, whatever. Just hurry up." He then moved over to undo the chain on his door as he remembered it was too high for him to reach.

After he found his wallet and keys Bryan left his room, locked it, and went downstairs where he found Tyler sitting on the bottom step struggling with his laces. He bent down quickly to help him, and then scooped him up to carry him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

Leaving the house, the pair then set off down the sidewalk, bickering between themselves over who was going to kick who's ass at Mario Kart once they got to Kyle's, with Tyler beating his little fists on his elder brother's back when he remarked that he couldn't even tell his left from his right.


	5. Reunion

**Chapter Four: Reunion**

Rei glanced down to the little head that was resting on his shoulder as it slept, and rolled his eyes. The flight from Hong Kong to Tokyo wasn't long at all – less than four hours – but somehow it seemed longer. He hadn't even had the chance to sit down properly before the small boy in the seat next to him recognised who he was, and stared at him wide eyed. Of course, _that_ didn't last long, because soon enough the boy's mouth was wide open and issuing forth question after excited question, tripping over all his words in a constant, unending, jet-powered stream of noise. ("No waaaaay! You're Rei! Rei from the Bladebreakers! I can't believe I'm sitting next to you! Mom look it's Rei from the Bladebreakers! He's the world champ! You're the world champ aren't you! What are you doing on this plane? Where are you going? I saw you guys win the championship! You're so cool! Are you going to see Tyson? He's so cool! I'm going to win the cup one day too! My name's Jack. Do you like apple juice? It's my favourite drink. Can I see your blade? What's it like having a bit-beast? I wish I had one. Hey look, I lost my first baby-tooth the other day! It didn't even hurt at all." and so on and so-forth.)

Now, Rei thought of himself as one of the more patient members of his team. In fact, he had great pride in his ability to detach himself from a stressful situation, take a step back, and react to things calmly and rationally. Unlike Tyson, who would just let his temper get the better of him and try to solve a problem by shouting at it; or Kai, who would just stalk off with his trademark 'Hn'. But Rei couldn't lie, even this little kid had eventually managed to break through his walls of calm and collectedness, and piss him off.

He didn't say anything, of course. That would just be rude. And Rei wasn't rude. Besides, he didn't think the kid's mother would take too kindly to the teen snapping at her 'little Jackie.'

However, about an hour into the flight the novelty must have worn off, because little Jack eventually gave Rei space to breathe. And this meant space to think.

He couldn't wait to get back to Japan. He hadn't seen Tyson and the guys since the last World Championships, and even though he'd kept in touch with them through email, it just wasn't the same as hanging out. He missed Max and Tyson's antics, Kenny's long words that nobody really understood, and Kai's silent but dependable strength in the corner of the room. He missed being a part of their group.

That isn't to say that he was lonely, because he definitely wasn't. He'd spent the past year and a half back in his home village in China with Mariah and Lee and the other guys in the White Tigers. And that in itself was a heap of fun. It was really nice, after traveling the world with the Bladebreakers, to just have some down time and relax with the friends that he grew up with.

He'd finally been able to work out his differences with Lee once and for all, and the two became thick as thieves once more, just like they had when they were children. Kevin was the annoying little thing that he'd always been, forever winding them up, but it was always in good jest. Gary was...well, he was Gary. And he was also surprisingly like Tyson, Rei thought with a smile, the way that everything paled into insignificance when food was around.

And Mariah…

He didn't know what to say about her. She was just the same as always; feisty and short-tempered, strong, but warm and...beautiful. She'd forgiven him for leaving China before, and the past year together had brought them closer than ever. He remembered when she'd said goodbye to him that morning at the airport in front of her team. 'I'll see you in the stadium, Rei,' she'd smirked wryly, her eyes sparkling with mirth, 'So you'd better train hard with your boys, because I'm not going easy on you this time.' He'd smirked right back at her and told her he wouldn't have it any other way.

And then he remembered her the night before, when she'd come to see him while he was packing. When she thought nobody was watching. She'd threw her arms around his neck and held on tight. She didn't want him to go. She'd gotten so used to having him around, that even though she knew she'd see him again soon, she'd miss him. When he'd pulled away from her he saw that her deep golden eyes were shimmering and glassy with tears that he knew pride kept her from spilling. Before he'd known what he was doing, he was being drawn into her, closer, until…

Rei pulled himself out of the memory, blushing. He could still feel the tingle on his lips from where they met hers.

– _This is your Captain speaking. We have arrived at Tokyo Narita Airport and have begun our descent. We ask that you please return to your seats and fasten your seat-belts. Upon landing, for your safety and the safety of those around you, we ask that you please remain seated until the aircraft has come to a complete stop. We hope you have had a pleasant flight, and thank you for choosing to fly with Japan Airlines –_

Rei rolled his eyes at the last statement. Pleasant flight indeed, he thought, looking toward _little __Jackie_ with an unimpressed expression. Nonetheless, he buckled his seatbelt without trying to shift the kid too much and turned his gaze outside the window, eager to land and be reunited with his team.

––––––––––––––––––––––––––

"Hey, Rei! Over here, man!"

Normally, Rei would have spared a moment to roll his eyes at his team mate's obnoxious shouting, but this time around he didn't. He just swiveled around on the spot and grinned when he saw a certain navy headed teen running towards him, dodging around the airport crowd, with blonde and brunette in tow.

"Hey, Tyson! Good to see you!" he said, clasping hands with the younger teen and shaking it with a grin that reached his eyes.

"Yeah, you too Rei - it sure has been a while."

"Tell me about it. Hey, Max!" he said, said as the blonde approached, and clasped hands with him, too.

"Heyyyy! Rei, it's so good to have you back! You've been gone too long, bro! I'm totally psyched up for this tournament, it's gonna be too cool blading with you again! Hey, have you –"

"Whoa, hey Max, calm down! How much sugar have you had today?"

"Not - not that much!" the blonde replied, looking affronted. "Why does everyone always say that?" he complained, his tone turning from defensive to whiney in two seconds flat.

"Because, Max, you start off your days with half a bag of sugar on your cereal, and never leave the house without about three packs of Mentos." Tyson jibed.

"I'm hurt, Tyson," Max replied in mock offense, folding his arms and pouting. "I think I know who I _won__'__t_ be sharing those with anymore."

"No - Maxi! I take it back! Please!" the navy headed teen replied in panic. Without Max sharing those cinnamon flavoured candies with him, where else would he get his fix!

"Hey, what'd I miss?" Kenny asked as he approached and saw Rei and Max laughing at Tyson, who, for some reason, was on his knees in front Max.

"Oh, hey Chief," said Rei, greeting brunette with a smile as he approached the trio. "Nothing much, really." Then his eyes travelled to the _other_ brunette who had arrived with him. "Oh, hello. You must be Hilary."

He'd heard Max mention her several times in his emails to him. As far as Rei remembered, she was a girl from Tyson's class at school; loud and bossy, but with a heart of gold. He said the two were actually really close friends, despite all their arguing. He also said that she'd been helping them train for the past year, which was awful nice of her since she couldn't even blade.

"Oh! Yes, I am! Hilary Tachibana - pleased to meet you." She replied, blushing and offering Rei a small hand. He thought she looked a little flustered. Hm, perhaps she didn't think he'd know who she was.

"Nice to meet you too," he replied, shaking hands with her. "I'm Rei. Max told me all about you."

"Huh, really?" she said, with a confused glance at the blonde.

"Oh, well yeah, of course!" he said, scratching the back of his head and laughing a little awkwardly. "Rei likes to be kept in the loop and well, you're kinda like a part of the team now, Hil."

Hilary looked touched. "...Really?" she asked, with eyes as big as dish plates.

"Yeah Hil, of course you are," said Tyson, throwing an arm around her, making her blush. "You're like, our mascot or something. We wouldn't be complete without you!"

"Oh ha ha, Tyson," she snarked, wriggling free of his arm, now blush free and irritated. Stupid Tyson. "If anyone's the mascot of this team, it's _you_. You could dress up as a huge fat mouth, and we could call you 'Tyson, the giant walking mouth. Watch out, get too close and he'll eat you too.'"

Tyson raised an eyebrow at her pitiful comeback. "Wow Hilary, you're quiet today. You don't have to tone things down to try and impress Rei, y'know, he already _has_ a girlfriend."

Rei blushed slightly at this, suddenly pulled into the memory of last night. A memory which he was unceremoniously pulled out of by Hilary's response.

"Ugh. Nice try Tyson, but it's not gonna work today. Unlike you, I don't need to scream at everything to get my point across," she said, narrowing her eyes at him dangerously.

"Well, I don't know, Hilary. You were screaming pretty loud last night," he remarked, leaning forward with his hands on his hips, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

That was the last straw for Hilary. Completely by-passing red, she blushed a furious purple, and Rei, Max and Kenny were left covering their ears as she screeched disbelievingly, "WHAT? Ugh, TY-son, you are _such_ a _pig!_ I can't _believe_ you would say something like that!"

Tyson was snickering evilly as he tried to dodge Hilary, who was now chasing him around the group and trying to beat him. They were causing a scene. People were starting to gather round to watch the bickering pair's antics.

Rei turned around to Max and Kenny, raising an eyebrow. "Gee, you weren't kidding. Are they always like this?"

"Pretty much," Kenny said simply, looking distinctly unimpressed.

"Ahh, Ty, get down – you're gonna annoy the guards!" Max began to run over to the pair, waving his arms around. Tyson was now jumping from chair to chair around the nearby café, trying to stay out of Hilary's grasp. He almost lost his footing when one of the chairs toppled out of balance, but then saved himself by jumping onto the little round table instead.

"Yes, _Tyson._ Why don't you just get down and take your beating like a man!" Hilary quipped sadistically, abandoning all modesty and still grasping for Tyson's feet. "Or is it that your _balls_ haven't dropped yet, so you're not a _real_ man?"

"T'chh, they _have_." Tyson replied, rolling his eyes and not missing a beat. "I would've thought _you__'__d_ know that already, Hilary."

"ARGH, get down here, Tyson!"

Rei thought that _now_ was probably about the time that Kai would cut in and get things back under control again, which then alerted him to their silent captain's absence.

"Hey, Kenny, have you guys heard from Kai yet?"

He shook his head. "No, not really. Although, we _do_ know where he is now."

"Really, how'd you find that out?"

"Oh," said Kenny, adjusting his glasses. "I got Dizzi to run an internet search. Apparently, he's going to a boarding school in northern Tokyo, and aced the winter examinations. We found his name on the school's newspaper, as well as a picture."

"Really, you can do that?" Rei asked. Creepy.

"Sure." Kenny opened his laptop up and immediately Dizzi brought the said web-page up.

'_No __need __to __look __so __worried __Rei! __As __you __can __see, __Kai__'__s __been __taking __care __of __himself, __and __he__'__s __as __cheerful __as __ever!__'_ Dizzi quipped.

Rei puzzled for a minute about how the bit-beast in the laptop could even _see_ at all, but decided he'd better not ask. Instead, he settled for leaning into the screen to get a better look at the news page and, sure enough, right there in front of him was a picture of Kai. He was standing with two other boys who were dressed in similar shirts and blazers, and they were each holding up what looked like a certificate. Kai was looking into the camera disinterestedly, as if he had a million other things he'd rather be doing. Like jumping from high warehouse ceilings, or glaring Tyson into submission, Rei thought.

"Yep, thats Kai alright," he said, "the Bladebreaker's very own Mr. Sunshine."

"Anyway," Kenny said, getting to the point, "Now that we know where he is, we were thinking of paying him a visit, since he's hardly likely to come to _us_ of his own free will. He's not exactly the type who pays (_'__or __even __appreciates!__'_ Dizzi piped in) friendly passing visits." Rei nodded in agreement. "But we thought we'd wait until you got here first, Rei, before going to see him." Kenny finished with a smile, which Rei returned.

"Yeah, thanks Kenny." Rei was glad to be back and part of the team again. All they needed to do now was convince Kai to join them, and they'd be ready to take the world by storm again.

– _This __is __a __passenger __announcement. __Could __John __Doe __please __make __his __way __to __departure __Gate __34__B, __the __flight __is __nearing __departure. __That__'__s __John __Doe __to __Gate __34__B__ –_

The intercom then cut out, before coming back to life again with a decidedly unimpressed tone, saying:

– _And could the boy in the blue and red baseball cap please STOP jumping over the furniture in the café in the west wing. Thank you. –_

Tyson stared disbelievingly into the ceiling for a second, and Max used this opportunity to grab him by the arm and pull him off the table. Hilary was too busy apologising to a woman that she'd spilled coffee over just moments ago, her face crimson with mortification, to exploit that moment of opportunity herself.

Rei decided he'd better wrap things up, otherwise they'd never leave. He was hungry, and a little tired if he was honest. He still needed to collect his luggage. He relieved Max of the burden of watching Tyson, allowing the blonde to rescue Hilary.

Rei was trying to escort the group away from the café when suddenly he heard:

"Hey Rei! There you are! I didn't get to say goodbye to you on the plane!"

Oh no.

Slowly, gingerly, he turned around and, sure enough, there was little Jackie staring up at him triumphantly. Rei watched warily as the boy's gaze drifted to the side of him and landed on Tyson. He braced himself for the explosion.

"WHOAA, NO WAY! You're Tyson, aren't you! You're the world champ! You're so cool! My name's Jack. This is too cool! I can't believe I'm talking to Tyson! Hey, do you like apple juice? It's my favourite drink!"

Tyson adored his fans, but this kid was scary. Hell, the brat talked more than _he_ did! Tyson looked warily over to Rei, who was pinching the bridge of his nose. "Uhh, Rei, who's this?"

"Don't ask, Tyson. Just, don't."

"Hey, can I see your blade? What's it like being the world champ? I'm going to win the cup one day too! Hey, guess what! My tooth fell out the other day, wanna see?"

Rei sighed. It was going to be a long day.

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><p><em><strong>AN: **And there you have it guys, the next chapter. From now on, i'll be updating this once a week, every Saturday.  
>Please let me know your thoughts on the story so far. If you liked it, let me know! It's always nice to hear if people enjoy what i've written, even if it's just a word or two!<br>If you don't like it, still let me know! If you have any ideas or criticisms, I'd love to hear them. For example, if it's confusing that I shift perspective for every chapter. So don't be shy, the review button's only down there! :)_

_**Next chapter: **Saturday _

_~Indie_


	6. Making an Entrance

_So, we're dropping in on the All Starz now, to see how they're reacting to the tournament. HAHA, I actually really grew to love the All Starz writing this, and this is the chapter I've probably had THE MOST fun writing so far, so I hope you all enjoy it too! :)_

_Thanks go out to **cakg123** for reviewing the last chapter, and** AquilaTempestas** for reviewing ever chapter so far. Your support is appreciated! :')_

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><p><strong>Chapter Five: Making an Entrance<strong>

In front of a large computer monitor sat Michael, who was staring into it intensely with his brow furrowed, one hand propping up his chin while the other was drumming impatiently on the desktop. The face he pulled was one of pure concentration.

Also in the room was Emily. She was sat in one of the white love-seats with her laptop upon her knees, and from the rapid tip-tapping of her fingers, Michael guessed she was furiously typing up some research report or other for Judy who was coming over that afternoon.

At the other side of the All-Starz home-room were Eddy and Steve. Steve was sprawled out on one of the longer couches, with a can of root beer in his hand and his plastered-leg propped up on a stool. He'd broken it not too long ago in a football match, and was _not_ happy about it. Eddy was standing not too far away. They were watching the NBA League game on a large plasma-screen TV, and they had the volume turned up to eleven. Along with the noise of the match's own in-game commentary, Michael could hear every word of Eddy and Steve's personal commentary, too.

Steve was loudly criticising the entire concept of basketball itself, arguing over how football was clearly the greater sport, and that, if his leg wasn't broken in two places, he would show Eddy just _how_ superior it was. Eddy was so intensely absorbed in the match, and wasn't paying much attention to the green-haired male's griping at all. Instead, he was shouting at the screen as if he were a coach present at the game itself – telling the players which members to pass to, where to run with the ball, calling the opposition up when they fouled, and so on. He was standing up simply because there was too much adrenaline shooting through his veins for him so sit down and, every now and then, he would bounce that ever-present basketball around in excitement – whenever his team scored a hoop, for example.

There was just too much noise in the room, and Michael wasn't impressed. There was something very, _very_ important he was working on, and the loud duo's noise was _not_ helping him any. "Oi, guys! Would you mind keeping it down? I'm tryn'a work here!" he yelled agitatedly over his shoulder.

Not one to be bossed around or yelled at by anyone, even if that someone was his captain, Steve merely responded with a, "Hey, Eddy, did you hear something?"

Eddy, who in all likelihood did not actually hear a thing, replied with a perfectly innocent, "Huh, hear what?"

"Right! That's it, I've had it!"

Emily watched disinterestedly over her laptop screen as Michael stormed past her to the noisy pair, and made to grab for the remote. Eddy, suddenly realising what the pretty-boy captain was trying to do, dropped his ball and began to wrestle Michael for ownership of the remote. This was the semi-final match – if the LA Lakers won this, they'd be through to the finals! Right now the match was really close, so he couldn't afford to miss it, dammit!

"Michael, give it back! Don't be an ass, man!"

"I'm only trying to turn it down, Ed, you guys are too fucking loud!"

Steve, who was rather disappointed to be unable to join the scuffle, simply settled for prodding the wrestling pair with one of his crutches whenever they came within reach. They were flicking through the channels in their fight, so the game wasn't even on for him to watch anymore anyway. Not that he was interested. Basketball was lame.

Emily rolled her eyes from her spot on the love-seat. There was too much testosterone in this team, and how she'd even made it this far was beyond her. Deciding that she wasn't going to be able to get much work done now that chaos had taken over the room, she set her laptop to the side and got up to look at what Michael was doing on the computer. It had to be something important if he was that riled up about being disturbed, she thought, but she couldn't quite think of what it could be.

From across the room, Michael was suddenly disturbed by a great peal of laughter from the tiny red-head, followed with a snarky, "So _this_ is the research you've been working on, Michael?" She then surrendered to more giggles, and the other two males on the team turned around to look at their captain with amused expressions on their faces before walking over to the computer (Steve hobbling on his crutches), the basketball game forgotten.

"What is it?" Eddy asked with interest as he approached Emily. "Is he talking to a girlfriend or something?"

"Pftt, nah, Michael hasn't _got_ a girlfriend – that's why he dyed his hair. He probably thinks it'll help him pick up some chicks," Steve said, ignoring the protests of his captain in the background. "I'll bet he's just looking at porn or something while he's waiting for his new blonde-headed charm to kick in," he quipped, leaning down to take a look at the monitor.

Emily rolled her eyes at the football-enthusiast's vulgarity, and was about to say something about it when the two males, upon seeing the screen, erupted into very loud, very amused laughter.

"Mike," Steve eventually said between guffaws, "you're so pathetic, man."

Michael's only response was to fold his arms irritatedly as he walked over to the computer as well, protesting loudly. "Laugh all you want guys, but this is actually very serious business. It's all about the image of our team."

"No it's not," Emily said, rolling her eyes and snickering, "It's all about _your_ image as a cocky, attention-seeking big-head."

The computer monitor was proudly displaying the Google search engine, into which Michael was looking at guides on _'__How __to __make __an __entrance __they__'__ll __never __forget.__'_ Also within the tab menu were pages on motorcycle stunts, theatrical indoor explosions, dramatic background music and moving platforms.

"This tournament," Michael continued, ignoring the teasing of his team mates, "is going to be watched by _everybody_, not just our American fans. _If_ we make a grand entrance," he said, complete with enthusiastic hand gestures, "they'll all be stunned by how awesome we are, and will come to watch all of our matches! It's all about the entertainment factor!" This, of course, only gave way to more laughter at his expense.

Judy then chose this moment to walk in to the room, with an intrigued expression on her face and a clipboard in her arms. She took a moment to survey the laughing members of the team she was charged with, and raised an eyebrow before asking interestedly "And just what is it that's so funny?"

"Oh, hi Judy," Emily exclaimed, sobering up a little when she noticed her coach and mentor. "You really have to come and look at this – Michael's been doing some _research_," she explained, with a sly glance at the blonde captain.

"Oh?" she asked, making her way toward the computer screen. "What kind of research?"

"The important kind, apparently," Emily mocked.

Michael, realising he had no chance to inconspicuously wipe the screen before his coach reached them, just glared at the little ginger before shifting awkwardly from foot to foot, awaiting his coach's response. Judy bent down slightly to take a look at the monitor, before standing back up again and greeting the blonde captain with an unimpressed look on her face. Stifling a sigh, she said, "Michael, you do realise that this tournament is _supposed_ to be a charity event raising money for those poor earthquake victims over in Haiti, and _not_ just an opportunity for you to show off, right?"

Michael rolled his eyes and sighed while Eddy and Steve snickered at him under their breaths. "Yes, Coach Judy."

"Great. So, perhaps you can forget about researching motorcycling techniques, and use your time for something a little more constructive instead. Sharpening your beyblade techniques, for example. Are we clear?"

Another sigh. More snickers. "Yes, Coach."

"Good. Now, Emily," she said, turning to the only girl on the team, "How's that report going? Is the new metal alloy we're experimenting with for the weight disks working out for you all, or does it need some tweaking?"

"Oh, well, I've spent the afternoon drawing up graphs of the results from the tests we ran yesterday, and I found that while the new disk does greatly improve the stability of the blade, there is some compromise with speed. I think that if we…"

Eddy and Steve, sensing a very long and dull conversation ahead, made their way back over to the television, and resumed watching the match. The Lakers, Eddy found with much relief, were still winning the game. Michael soon followed them and sat down on the couch opposite Steve, sulking and muttering about how some people just didn't understand.

Not ten minutes had passed when Judy had finished her conversation with Emily and called them all to attention.

"Now, since Steve won't be blading in this tournament because his leg won't be sufficiently healed in time –"

"What?" interrupted the green-haired blader disbelievingly, grabbing a crutch and getting to his feet awkwardly. "Coach, I can still blade –"

"T'chh, no you can't," said Michael, getting up off the couch and snatching away Steve's crutch. He watched amusedly as Steve wobbled slightly on the spot before falling backwards on the couch with an infuriated expression on his face. "See, you can't even stand, so how exactly are you going to kick-launch your beyblade?"

"Michael, give Steve his crutch back," Judy said sharply. Michael did so, but not without rolling his eyes when he thought she wasn't looking. "Steve, Michael's right, you're in no position to blade, and this is _not_ up for negotiation," she said, her voice rising a little at the end as she saw Steve attempt to protest again. Now it was Michael's turn to snicker at the green-headed blader, and snicker he did. "So, as your coach, I have taken the liberty of finding you a suitable replacement. Steve is the powerhouse of this team, and I needed to make sure I found someone who was strong enough to fill that role."

Michael then watched with vague interest as Judy spoke into the mic on the headset she always wore, and told whoever was on the other end that they were 'ready for him' now. He didn't particularly care who this 'him' was as long as it was clear who was in charge. And by 'who,' Michael meant _himself_, of course.

Two minutes later the door was opened, and in strode the replacement blader. He was a tall, broad young man with dark skin, unruly white hair which he kept tied behind his head, and a scowl on his face.

"Alright, guys," said Judy, striding over to meet the blader as he came in, "I want you to meet Rick Anderson, who'll be filling in for Steve in the upcoming tournament." They all got up and went to greet the blader. "Rick, this is Emily, she's the brains of our team and collects data on all our opponents before we face them. She'll be your go-to person when you need a strategy or any beyblade improvements."

"Hello," Emily said a little stiffly, folding her arms. She didn't look too pleased with the bulky replacement blader. She was half hoping for a girl – the team had way too much testosterone in it as it was, without adding this hulk of a guy to it.

"This," Judy said, gesturing to the tall basketball player, "is Eddy. As a blader he specializes in speed and precision, and is a very reliable member of the team."

"Yo," Eddy said in greeting, spinning his basketball on his finger with his eyes still partially on the game.

"That's Steve," she said pointing to him, "and he's the blader you're filling in for."

Steve offered him a nonchalant nod of the head, but nothing else besides – his hands were full with his crutches.

"And this is Michael. He's your Captain, and is the one in charge of training you all when I'm not around."

"Hey man, what up?" Michael said, extending a hand as greeting. A hand which was _not_ shaken and returned by the bigger male. Instead, he just folded his arms and turned towards Judy with a sneer.

"So, _these_ are the All-Starz, huh? I dunno... I was expecting somethin' a little more, well – more!"

"What?" Michael could not believe what he just heard and, by the sound of the protests from his other team members, neither could they. Just who did this ape think he was, strutting in here and insulting his team like that. "Just who do you think you are?" Michael growled, expressing his distaste clear as day. "Judy, where'd you find this dick?"

"Michael." Her tone was stern, calling him up on his language. "_Rick_ is a very experienced blader with an iron-strong offense, and will be a valuable addition to the team." Michael glared at the white-haired man, and at the smug expression that was plastered all over his face. "And Rick," Judy continued, ignoring the obvious hostility in the air, "the All-Starz are a world-class team, internationally recognised for their skill and expertise in the bey-stadium. If you want to blade in this tournament, you're going to have to learn to work with them."

There was a moment of silence in which each of the All-Starz eyed-up this _Rick_ with clear distaste, but they made no moves to air their opinions with Judy still in the room.

"Well, if there aren't any questions then I guess I'll wrap this up, I have a lot to be getting on with in the labs after reading Emily's report." She proceeded to flick though her clipboard, before continuing. "Now, it's been just over two weeks since we received the letter from Mr. Dickenson inviting us to take part in the tournament, which begins July 9th – a Saturday. June 25th is when we'll travel to Colorado, meet up with the other eight teams that are competing and take part in a two-week long training retreat that Mr Dickenson has organized. It's currently April 22nd, so that gives us just over two months to prepare ourselves before that, and get a head start in the game. It might just be a charity event, but that doesn't mean we won't be competing in top-form, right team?"

"Yes Coach," was the general response, although not as enthusiastic as usual. Michael was still glaring at Rick with narrowed eyes. Two months to show this _Dick_ who's captain? No problem.

"Alright then. I'll leave you all alone now so you can...adjust to each other. We'll begin training tomorrow, so be ready." Judy then left the room, and closed the door behind her with a small click.

For a while, the room was silent, until:

"T'chh, _valuable __addition __to __the __team_ my ass, I've never even heard of you before," Michael said contemptuously.

"Funny that, I was just thinkin' the same thing myself," replied the white haired blader, eying the captain with clear disregard.

"_What_ did you say?" Michael growled, quickly loosing his patience with the cocky bastard.

"What, are you deaf as well as stupid? I ain't gonna bother repeatin' myself then, might just be a waste of my time."

"...I don't know who you think you are, _Dick_," Michael began, getting in the taller blader's face, "but here, we do things differently. _We__'__ve_ been spinning blades at a world-class level for years, _and_ we've got the titles to show for it. What've _you_ got?"

"Titles, trophies, don't make me laugh," Rick smirked. "They don't count for nothin' when you've only got them 'cause of all your high-tech gadgets, and your _data_," he added, with a dirty look towards Emily.

"Michael!" Emily cried as her captain suddenly leapt towards the bigger blader, all patience lost, with his fists flying. He was pulled back by Eddy, however, before his fists even made contact. Steve loitered a little behind, cursing his broken leg, but making sure the white headed man could feel the hatred in his glare.

"He's not worth it, Mike," said Eddy, trying to pacify his captain, but still with evident contempt in his voice. "He's just taunting you, don't rise to it, man."

Rick laughed, and Michael shrugged his team mate off, regaining some of his composure but still fuming at the situation.

"Laugh all you want _Dick_, but know this," he said quietly. "_I_ am the captain of this team, _I_ make the decisions around here, and if you don't start showing some respect for me _and_ my team, I'll see to it that you're benched for the _whole __fucking __tournament_, understand?" Rick lowered his eyes to meet the blonde captain's glare, and both stood their ground as they tried to stare each other out.

Eventually, Rick backed down with a smirk and said, "Pft, whatever. I don't have time for this." He then left the room, but not before uttering an "I'll see you ladies tomorrow."

"...I don't like that asshole," Michael stated after a few minutes heated glaring at the door that Rick never bothered closing in his departure.

"I don't think any of us do, Mike," said Eddy, as Steve began hobbling back over to the couch. His leg was getting sore after all the standing he'd been doing recently. "He needs to keep his attitude in check, or we're not gonna get anything done in the next two months."

"I'm going to try and talk to Judy about him, guys. I just don't think we can work with him," said Emily.

"No. Don't bother, Emily. You heard her. He's a 'valuable addition to the team.' She's not gonna let him go," Michael replied, still seething.

"Well…I could just ask her to say something to him instead. It's worth a try. Eddy's right, Michael, we're not going to get anything done if all we do is butt heads with him for the next two months."

"Hm. I guess so."

"Well, I'll get going then," she said once she'd gotten the okay from her captain. "I should help her out with these new alloy weight disks in the lab anyway." Emily took a few moments to gather up her laptop and notes, and then silently left the room.

"Hey, Eddy," Steve called from across the room, "the Lakers won the match."

"Huh, really!" the taller blader replied, shooting off to the television in a flash, his spirits immediately lifted and the fight with Rick forgotten.

Michael rolled his eyes slightly at Eddy's celebrations behind him, and continued to glare at the door for a few seconds. Fucking Rick. No way was he going to have some idiot just waltz in to _his_ world and challenge _his_ authority like that.

Narrowing his eyes in determination, Michael made his way back over the computer, cleared the search bar, and typed in the words, _'__How __to __keep __an __asshole __in __line.__'_

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><p><em><strong>AN: **So there you have it guys! Hmm, I wonder if Michael will find anything of interest with that last query of his? XD I hope you enjoyed reading it at least half as much as I enjoyed writing it, and if you have any thoughts (even if those thoughts consist of 'LOL he called him Dick' or something) then please let me know by clicking the review button below. I feel a little like I'm writing blind here! O':_

_**Next chapter:** Saturday  
><em>


	7. First Impressions

_You lucky people, I'm updating early since I'll be busy painting my room tomorrow. Although, technically, it IS past midnight, so I guess it's Saturday already. Whatever. 8D  
>Sooooo, now we're dropping back in on our beloved Demolition Boys now. Honestly, as much fun as I had writing this, I'm a little nervous about publishing it, for reasons you'll surely see when you read on ahead.<em>

_Thanks to **AquilaTempestas** and** Uncommon Valour **for reviews. :3_

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><p><strong>Chapter Six: First Impressions<strong>

Tala narrowed his startling blue eyes in concentration as he came up with a brilliant strategy and decided to put it to action. He scouted the windows of the watch tower, knowing that Ian was inside. Carefully, keeping low to the ground and out of sight, he laid down two claymores on either side of the gate leading into the compound. He then carefully traced his steps back to his hiding spot behind an abandoned jeep, and waited.

Tala knew the little purple headed sniper was inside the tower, waiting for him to make one wrong move and reveal himself. He also knew that he was an impatient little runt, and wouldn't wait around all day to shoot him out. As soon as Ian left the compound to search him out, he'd trigger the laser sensors on the claymores, and they would explode and riddle the runt with shrapnel. If _that_ didn't kill him, Tala was ready with his H&K MP5N submachine gun (his preferred weapon of choice) to blow the little midget's head off once he'd revealed his location.

It was the perfect plan.

And then the phone rang, disturbing the perfectly tense silence of the room.

"Ah, shit," Tala exclaimed as the shrill ringing startled him, making him press the jump button. The next thing he knew, he was dead.

"BOOM, headshot!" came the celebratory shout of Ian in the next room. Damn him and his amazing eye.

"Fuck off Ian, the telephone did all the work," Tala retaliated, calling over his shoulder into the midget's room.

"Ha, whatever, man!" he said as he came walking into Tala's bedroom room with a smug little grin plastered all over his face. "Don't take it so hard, Tal, at least you lasted longer than before! Although, that's not _really_ saying much," he added, snickering.

Tala threw his hands up into the air and collapsed backwards onto his bed with a groan. _This_ is why he hated playing Call of Duty with Ian, he _always_ won! "Ian, just get the phone, it's pissing me off."

He heard Ian snickering all the way into the hallway before picking up the phone and answering it with a cheerful, "Hell-lo?"

Tala rolled over and propped himself up onto his elbows, tucking his bangs behind his ear. He had since stopped styling his hair into those weird gelled-up horns Boris seemed to like so much, and now just let it hang loose around his chin. He was half sulking and half thinking of a new strategy – that is until he heard who Ian was speaking to.

"Hey, Bryan! What you doing man, you're late! –––– Huh, the window? Why would I have looked out the, ohhh, the snowstorm? Wow, yeah, it's pretty bad actually –––– Don't lie Bryan, I know airport crowds are your favourite thing –––– HAHA, _four __hours_? I hope you haven't killed anyone yet, you're not allowed to do that without us –––– Me? T'chh, whatever, you wouldn't kill me, you love me too much! –––– Nope! Tala's not in, so I guess you're just gonna have to stick with me instead."

Tala rolled his eyes and decided to rescue Bryan from the annoying little runt before he really did kill him. After snatching the phone away and easily shoving Ian to the side, he lifted the receiver to his ear, smirked, and said with a flourish, "Well hello there, Bryan. What seems to be the problem?"

– _Fucking airport delays, that's what –_

"Oh dear," Tala said in mock concern. He could practically hear that Bryan's fists were clenched in frustration from the sound of his voice, and snickered. "So, where are you now then?"

– _Pulkovo airport. The captain had to take us down here 'cause it was too dangerous to fly any further inland, apparently –_

Apparently's right, Tala thought as he glanced out the window towards the freak blizzard. They never had weather like this in mid-April. "That's St Petersburg, right? Why don't you just get a taxi down to Spencer's or something?"

– _Cant. Haven't got enough money, and my luggage is bound for Moscow anyway –_

"Well, I guess you're gonna have to suck it up then. It's a good job my parents thought to check the flight schedules online, otherwise they'd _still_ be waiting for you at the airport."

– _Shit, yeah Tal, apologise to them for me would you? And tell them I'll phone again when I arrive in Moscow –_

He smiled. Even though Bryan never said it, Tala knew how fond he was of his parents. And he didn't blame him. Bryan's dad was a dick, and _his_ parents were stupidly nice in comparison. It took him a while to get used to them at first, and they had many, _many_ arguments, but eventually Tala let down his icy barriers and allowed them to love him. Besides, he got sick of making his mother cry in the end – it just didn't feel right. Of course, that didn't mean he was getting soft. It just meant that he was shrugging off the iron-clad hold that Boris had over his life – over all their lives – and was letting himself _feel_ for once.

"Don't worry about it Bry," he said in response to the pale haired blader's request, "they don't mind, they're just worried about you having enough money to buy lunch and shit while you're waiting. My mom's been fussing over you all morning and you're not even here yet. So," he said, his tone of voice shifting from soft to snarky in two seconds flat, "You'd better get your ass over here quickly, 'cause it's starting to piss me off a little."

– _Pft, __whatever __you __say, __captain__ –_ Bryan said, and Tala could hear the smirk in his team mate's voice. Then he hung up without so much as saying goodbye. Typical.

"Right you little runt," he said, twisting towards Ian who was sat on top of the stair-rail and listening to their conversation, "round two?"

"Ha, sure! Somebody's a glutton for punishment today," he said, jumping off the banister and all but skipping to his room.

"Fuck off, Ian, this round's all mine."

**––––––––––––––––––––––––––––**

Glaring at the bustling crowd milling past him, Bryan roughly ended the call and shoved his cell phone back into his pocket. He didn't like looking at the thing – it reminded him too much of that old man's kindness that he was beginning to feel indebted to.

When Bryan got to Kyle's that Tuesday, the first thing he did was phone Tala. It was a good thing, he'd thought, that Tala was getting accustomed to late nights, because the phone only rang twice before he'd answered. Bryan would've felt a little bad if he'd woken up Mr. and Mrs. Ivanov at two in the morning. He'd told Tala that he'd blade in the tournament if the team was going, but that the only thing keeping him back was his brother. Tala replied that, yes, they were planning on going, and the only thing stopping _them_ was _him_. He suggested that Bryan phone Dickenson to see if he had any ideas about what to do with Tyler, so that's what he did.

Bryan had searched up the telephone number for the main American BBA headquarters, figuring he'd have more chance of reaching the old man that way than if he'd just phoned the smaller Michigan office. Once Bryan had said who he was and what he wanted, the secretary was suprisingly accommodating, and within ten minutes he was wired into Dickenson's office phone. After explaining (somewhat grudgingly) his concerns, Dickenson asked him that, if there were some way for Bryan to keep in contact with his brother, would he be more willing to go. Bryan replied that he would, and immediately the old man laughed and said, 'well, not to worry old chap, everything will be taken care of,' and hung up the phone.

Two days later, a parcel arrived for him at his father's house, and inside were two mobile phones, one for him and the other for Tyler (the kid was four!), each with sixteen-month contracts already paid for, and a plane ticket that would take him to Moscow that Saturday.

Bryan wasn't quite sure what to make of this, and he was more than a little taken aback by the old man's generosity (or stupidity, he hadn't decided which yet). Nevertheless, Bryan was looking forward to seeing his team and blading with them properly again, so he had spent the next two days teaching Tyler how to use the phone so they could keep in touch (he'd entered his number on the speed dial to make it easier for the little man).

Now it was Sunday, and Bryan had been traveling for at least 20 hours straight. After leaving the airport in Detroit, he'd had to stop over in Chicago for an hour, and then again in London for two. During the long flight to London, he'd probably slept for about two hours maximum. Now he was stuck in St. Petersburg because of a stupid blizzard.

He ran his fingers tiredly through the middle of his hair, which he had changed since leaving the abbey – Kyle's sister had done it for him. It now resembled a kind of shortish, layered, slightly grown out mohawk, and he was quite fond of it if he was honest. Much better than the straggly cut he used to flaunt. But, no matter how good he thought he looked, dammit he was tired, jet-lagged, grumpy and in dire need of a warm and comfortable bed. Or a very strong cup of coffee. And a cigarette.

Following that thought up, he pushed himself away from the wall he'd been leaning on, and went to search out a cafe. Before long, he found one and stared in utter dismay at the line that, for all intents and purposes, may well have stretched past the borders of Europe and back. He looked up at the bold green Starbucks sign and rolled his eyes. Fucking figures. Bryan weaved around the airport crowd anyway, and took a place at the back of the line, at least appreciative of the fact that this was probably the one place where he could ask for large Americano with three extra shots of espresso, no questions asked.

After paying for his caffeine fix, he cradled the large warm mug in his hands before raising his eyes to scout for a table. His eyes roamed over one with a young family and a baby screaming in its pram, over to another with an old couple sitting together quietly minding themselves, before finally coming to rest on an almost empty table at the far end. Sitting at it was an unassuming looking young girl, probably no older than himself, reading a magazine.

Careful not to spill his coffee, he weaved around the tables and crowds once more before reaching her table, and asked in polite Russian:

"_Is __this __seat __taken?__"_

"Yes..." she replied distractedly, not taking her eyes off the magazine, "um, no. Wait, sorry – what?" she asked, her voice rising at the end as she teared her eyes away from the article to look at Bryan with a slightly confused expression on her face.

English, he thought, internally rolling his eyes. British, if her accent was anything to go by. Suppressing a sigh, he tried again. "I said, is this seat taken?"

"Oh!" she exclaimed, suddenly understanding, "no it isn't. Please, go ahead," she said, gesturing to the chair with a smile. She moved her mug and magazine back to make room for him and Bryan sat down, thankful to finally be able to rest his legs. He was just about to take a sip of his coffee when he was interrupted by the girl opening her mouth to speak. "It's a little crazy here today, isn't it?"

Bryan simply raised his eyebrow at her and nodded. "Yep." He then began to take another sip, but was interrupted again. She was leaning with an elbow on the table, propping up her head with a hand, and looking at him.

"So, we're in an airport. Where are you headed? Oh, I'm Rachel, by the way," she added with a smile, "Rachel Hawker."

Bryan stared at her a little wearily. Of all the tables he had to pick, he _had_ to sit at one with a girl who apparently couldn't sit at a table with a stranger and _not_ make small talk. But he was too tired to start a fight, so he just decided to answer her questions and hope she'd tire of talking eventually. "Bryan," he offered in response. "I'm going to Moscow - I was born there."

"Oh, that's nice," she said. Bryan wasn't too sure what was nice about it at all, but then she continued, "I'm going back home to London after a friend of mine called, or trying to anyway. I've spent the past few weeks traveling around St. Petersburg, taking pictures and writing up articles for a travel magazine." She spared a moment to gesture towards the few black bags she had at her feet, which Bryan assumed was photography equipment, before continuing, "You're so lucky to have been born here - Russia's a beautiful country."

"Hm," he said. Bryan had a lucky past indeed. He laughed a little at the irony, but didn't say anything else. Instead, he continued, smirking, "Probably not so pretty during freak blizzards, though."

She smirked right back and said, "No, I'd have to agree with you there."

She then returned to her magazine and was quiet once more, leaving Bryan in peace. With nothing to do now that she'd stopped shooting the breeze with him, he began to find he was actually little bored after a few minutes of silence. So, he took to people-watching instead.

On the table next to him sat a young man with a laptop. He was wearing a suit and was frantically typing on the keyboard, looking as though he wanted to cry. Next to him was a young couple, making good use of their time stuck in the airport by publicly displaying their affection for each other to anyone who cared to watch. Next to them was a _very_ attractive young woman; curvy, brunette, with glasses and reading a book. He thought she looked like the devious secretary type. Every now and then she shot disgruntled looks with cold grey eyes over to the entangled pair next to her.

He then turned his eyes towards the girl he was sharing a table with. He _supposed_ she was pretty. She had long, slightly curly dark brown hair that was tied in a messy bun on top of her head. She was pale, though not nearly so much as he, and she had the kind of nose that Bryan noticed posh people always had which made them look haughty. She had dark greyish olive coloured eyes that Bryan thought told him everything and nothing all at once, and he watched as these were flicking across the page, completely oblivious to the Russian blader's assessment of her.

Shifting in his seat, Bryan removed a cigarette from his pack, lit it and brought it to his mouth. God he hadn't had a smoke in ages. He leaned back in his chair and spared a moment to enjoy himself.

"Smoking's bad for you, you know."

Bryan raised an eyebrow towards the no longer silent girl, who had lowered her magazine and was now looking at him again. "Is it now?" he asked, getting a little annoyed. First she disturbs him from drinking his coffee in peace, and now she interrupts him while he's having a smoke? No thank you. Pretty or not, she was starting to piss him off.

"Yes. It is," she countered, a little petulantly. "It stinks too, clinging to your clothes like a –"

"– Rachel, right?" he interrupted, not bothering to wait for a reply. "I'll tell you what, how about this? Starting from now, I'll chain smoke, and you can keep annoying me, and we'll see which one of us dies first," Bryan said, leaning forward and putting on a half-assed threatening glare.

Rachel just stared at him, before shaking her head and laughing under her breath, completely unfazed. "...Right, whatever," she said, calling his bluff and returning to her magazine.

It was a music magazine and Bryan noticed, with some interest, that it was written in Russian. Which was odd, he thought, since she didn't seem to understand him before. Deciding, somewhat childishly, that if she wasn't going to leave him in peace, he wasn't going to leave _her_ in peace either, he reached over with his free hand, snatched the magazine away and waved it around. "This is written in Russian," he stated.

"And?" Rachel demanded sharply with narrowed eyes, which were darting between his own pale grey ones and the magazine in his hand. Bryan smirked, it seems she was a little easier to piss off then he thought. He was beginning to think he might enjoy sitting at this table with her – the snow storm wasn't going to let up any time soon, and without his guitar and only three cigarettes left, he needed a way to pass the time.

"You can't speak Russian."

"Yes, I can."

"_No, __you __can__'__t,__"_ Bryan argued, shifting to his mother tongue to test her, and slightly wondering why the hell he was even bothering.

"_Yes,__" _she replied, standing up and leaning over the table to snatch her magazine back, and surprising him a little when she made the shift too, "_I __can. __And __what __does __it __even __mean __to __you, __anyway?__"_

Bryan was about to bite back when he heard a cell phone ringing. He was about to check his own mobile when Rachel dived down into one of her bags, and pulled out her own. She spared a moment to glare at him, before flipping it open and answering.

"Hello? – Oh, Oliver! _Salut, __comment __vas-tu?__"_

Bryan blinked, French too?

Of course, he himself was fluent in five languages (blading and military training were not the only disciplines taught at the abbey – the boys also had to be academic elites as well) but for some reason it always surprised him when he came across people his own age who were multi-lingual too.

"_Oui, __je __vais __bien...__je __suis __coincé __en __Russie__ –––– __Johnny? __Oui, __il __a __appelé...__ –––––_ the tournament?" she said, suddenly switching back to English. Bryan too, began to eavesdrop more attentively at the mention of the tournament. "What tournament, Oliver? ––––– No, yes, Johnny did phone me, but he didn't mention _anything_ about a tournament. He just said there was something he needed to talk to me about and could I come home ––––– Well, of course! He _knows_ that I don't blade anymore, so I suppose he figured he wouldn't be able to convince me over the… ––––– Robert's dad? –––––– Oh, no.. that's awful ––––– No, Oliver, don't worry about it, you wouldn't have known ––––– Okay, I will –––––– Yes, yes okay ––––– Tell Johnny he'd better watch himself when I get back ––––– Okay, I'll see you soon then. Take care, bye."

Throughout the phone call, Bryan had watched as the emotions played out on Rachel's face. First surprise, then confusion, followed by anger, impatience and sympathy, before finally coming to rest with mild annoyance.

Bryan watched with an arched eyebrow as his table partner closed her flip phone shut slowly, and Rachel, noticing she was being watched, leveled him with a glare and said, "what?"

He smirked a little at her tone. "What was that?" he asked, referring to the phone call.

"Nothing that concerns you, I'm sure –"

"– why don't you blade anymore?"

Rachel blinked. "Why are _you_ so talkative all of a sudden?" Bryan snorted. Deflection, what a typical female tactic.

"Why are you changing the subject?"

"Because the subject has nothing to do with you!"

"That's not a valid reason."

Bryan leaned back and smirked as Rachel sighed agitatedly and tucked a few stray hairs behind her ear. The action caused the sleeve of her chunky grey cardigan to fall down, revealing a long tattoo running down the side of her forearm. And then it was gone, and she was folding her arms in a huff.

"This tournament…" Bryan began, bringing up the subject again and ignoring the flash of annoyance in her eyes, "is it a charity event?"

"...why?" she asked with guarded eyes.

"I'm competing as well."

She rolled her eyes. "Well, in that case I'm very happy for you, Bryan, but –"

"And I think you should, too."

"Oh?" she asked, narrowing her eyes at him again, "and why is that, exactly?"

"No reason. I was just thinking it'd be nice to beat you in the stadium like I have in this argument."

Bryan didn't even have time to appreciate the expression on Rachel's face before she promptly threw the magazine at _his_ face, obscuring his view. Then, to further piss her off, he didn't even bother retaliating. Instead, he just calmly pulled the magazine off his face, straightened it out and began to read it himself, all the while smirking at her annoyance and her half-assed attempts to get it back.

He didn't know how long he was going to have to wait for the storm to abate, but hell, at least he wasn't without caffeine and relative entertainment.

* * *

><p><strong><em>AN:_**_ Well, there you have it. Damn, I dropped the OC-bomb. D8  
>So, meet Rachel. I'm well aware that OC's are risky business, so honestly, what do you think – like her? Hate her? I'd appreciate your thoughts. Interestingly, she does actually serve a purpose in the story. I'm playing with a totally new concept to beyblading in this fic, and I thought new concept requires characters who don't already have an established cannon history in the first season.<br>In other news, I have **rewritten the prologue** so it's not such an eyesore anymore, so you all should totally go check it out. It's got Mr Dickenson in it. ;)  
>Anyway, yeah. <strong>Review review review!<strong> I'd even welcome some harsh criticism over silence, because at least then I'd know people have an opinion on what I'm writing. :)_

_**Next chapter: **Saturday. **Virtual cookies** for anyone who can guess who we'll be visiting next chapter! 8D  
><em>


	8. Rematch

_Well, no one guessed it, but I'm sure everyone's been waiting for it. Ladies and gentleman, I give you – KAI. 8]  
>On that note, I won't be selfish and keep the virtual cookies to myself, instead I'll hand them over to <strong>country-grl20<strong>, **it's me** and **AquilaTempestas** for their reviews on the last chapter._

_Big shout out to **it's me** since I can't thank you via PM – THANK YOU. Your reviews are very encouraging and I'm glad you're enjoying the story so far. :3_

_**DOUBLE UPDATE today because it's Christmas. 8D** _

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><p><strong>Chapter Seven: Rematch<strong>

Kai repressed a sigh as he rolled his eyes at the back of the classroom. He was leaning back in his chair with his arms folded, watching disinterestedly as the kid at the front of the class was trying to work out an advanced level quadratic equation on the black board.

Trying, and failing miserably.

He didn't understand why some people found Math so difficult. Math was easy. Everything in Math had an answer – all you needed to do was figure out the pattern and you would find the right answer every time. Physics was another very easy subject. Everything was governed by set rules and patterns, and so as long as you knew these there was never any wrong answer you could arrive at. Sure, you _could_ try and argue that a concrete block was no more dense than air, or that gravity only worked on objects that were blue, but you'd be wrong. Very wrong.

English Literature, on the other hand, was not one of Kai's favourite subjects, because it _didn't_ have any right or wrong answers. That isn't to say that he didn't do well in the subject, because he did. It simply meant that he had little respect for it. His Literature tutor had told them that correctness was a spectrum, and Kai thought this was incredibly stupid. For example, when they had studied Macbeth over the autumn, Kai had written about Lady Macbeth as a cold, manipulative, callous woman who cared only for her own ambition and nothing for the mental state of her husband. Another boy in his class had written about Shakespeare's unfair, misogynistic representation of her, and said that Lady Macbeth was actually a tragically misunderstood character with deep-rooted trauma in her past, whose _only_ care in the world was her husband. They had both received top marks.

Now, Kai didn't want to point out the obvious, but Lady Macbeth could not possibly be _both_ of these things at once, and yet they were both 'right.' This is why Kai thought Literature was an idiotic subject with no academic worth whatsoever.

He was brought out of his musings when the bell rang shrilly, signaling the end of the period. Kai spared a moment to glance up and smirk at the kid who was very gratefully abandoning the equation on the board and packing up his things to leave. He then decided to follow suit, gathering his own things up and leaving the room.

He hadn't walked three steps down the corridor before someone was calling his name from behind.

"Hey! Hey Kai, wait up!" Kai stopped a little reluctantly, but turned around anyhow, not recognising the voice. He watched as a dark blonde haired boy approached him and said, "Hey, Wyatt asked me to tell you there were some kids sneaking around the grounds earlier looking for you."

"Kids?" Kai replied a little confused. "What kids?"

"I dunno," answered the blonde, shrugging, "I didn't see. He just told me to tell you."

"Hn. And where are they now?"

"Oh, they're in your dorm – Wyatt let them in."

Kai started massaging his temple. "He let them into my room." It was a statement, not a question. That Wyatt kid was always invading his privacy and pestering him to teach him some blading techniques, but this time he went a little too far. Kai would have to have words with the kid.

But not because he'd let some strangers into the room. No, Kai had an itching feeling about just who these 'kids' were.

"Um.. yeah." The blonde shuffled a little awkwardly from foot to foot and scratched the back of his head, sensing that Kai wasn't too happy with the situation. "Aaanyway, I've got a History class now, so... bye."

Kai folded his arms and watched the blonde hurry off through narrowed eyes, before sighing and making his out of the building and towards the third year dorms. He might as well get this out of the way now – he only had Literature next period, and he didn't really care for it anyway.

**–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––**

He knew it.

Kai was standing in the open doorway to his room with his hand still resting on the doorknob. In front of him – inside _his_ room and sprawled over _his_ bed – was Tyson. Kai had just opened the door and interrupted the navy headed blader's conversation with Wyatt, who was sitting backwards on Kai's computer chair, leaning on the backrest and listening attentively to whatever foolishness was dribbling out of his ex-team mate's mouth.

Tyson's eyes lit up as soon as he opened the door and said, "Kai, there you are! D'you have any idea how long we've been wait –"

"– What are you doing in my room, Tyson."

"Hey! Now that's no way to greet your bestest buddy, Kai!" said Tyson, propping himself up onto his elbows and pretending to take offense.

Kai's only response was to issue his trademark glare, before turning to Wyatt and raising an expectant eyebrow. Wyatt shrank a little under the weight of Kai's gaze, but put on a smile anyway, before answering a little excitedly, "Hello Kai! Umm, yeah, so I had a free period earlier and I found these guys just wandering around campus and... I recognised them as your old team mates! So I thought that they must be looking for you, Kai. So I went over and introduced myself, and told them that I was a friend of yours and that you were probably still in classes, but that I could take them here and we could wait for you! And, well, here we are…" Wyatt ended a little meekly, seeing the unimpressed expression on his idol's face.

"Yeah! And we've spent the last like, hour talking about different beyblading techniques, haven't we Wyatt?"

"Yes! I mean, thanks so much Tyson. I've always admired Kai and the rest of your team, and maybe now that you've given me some tips I can enter some tournaments myself!"

Kai simply ran a tired hand through his hair, before saying, "Wyatt, look, could you just... leave?"

Wyatt blinked in response as Tyson piped up in the background about how Kai really should be nicer to his friends. Then, after recovering himself, Wyatt said, "Oh… sure. I mean, you probably just wanna catch up with your friends so, I.. I guess I'll be going!" Kai moved aside in the doorway slightly to let the brunette past. He turned around and waved, "Bye Tyson! I'll see you later K –"

Kai closed the door shut in Wyatt's face, before turning around and leaning on it to face Tyson once again. He was just about to ask him where the others were, when he saw them from the corner of his eye. They were all on the other side of the room, and Kai supposed he just hadn't seen them behind the door. Rei was browsing through his bookshelf and had just turned around and greeted him pleasantly; Max had moved over to the chair Wyatt had vacated and was now sitting cross-legged on it himself, waving at him sheepishly and no doubt resisting the urge to spin around in circles; Tyson was still lounging backwards on his bed like a slob; Kenny was sat in the corner of the room typing away on Dizzi, and next to him sat a girl who Kai didn't recognize.

When he realized they were all just staring at him and waiting for him to say something, Kai decided to initiate the conversation – their silence was bothering him. So, turning his eyes back to the self-appointed mouth of the group, he said, "So, Tyson. Mind telling me what you're all doing here?" When all the navy haired teen did was continue gaping at him mindlessly in response, Kai began to get annoyed. More so than he was already. Gritting his teeth slightly he said, "What, Tyson?"

"Dude, you look…different. Without those shark fin thingies on your face, I mean," he said, pointing to his own cheeks in illustration.

Slightly resisting the urge to punch Tyson in the face, but mentally picturing the action with much pleasure, Kai merely folded his arms and closed his eyes, before repeating himself. "Why are you all _here._"

"Well, that's easy Kai!" Max piped up, who had now actually succumbed to spinning around on the chair, "We've come to ask you to be our captain again for the tournament!"

"Yeah, as much as we hate to admit it, we do kinda need you on this team, buddy," Tyson said in agreement.

Of course, this news came as no surprise to Kai – he knew all about the proposed tournament from the letter he received a fortnight ago. What he did _not_ expect was for them all to come to him so quickly and willingly. After all the incidents in Moscow, and how badly he'd treated them, and then secluding himself away for the past year, he hadn't expected them to come to him at all, even if they _did_ know where he was.

He supposed if he was sentimental, he would've been touched by their willingness to have him back on the team. But he wasn't. He just didn't understand. Not that he would let his confusion show, of course. He had a reputation to uphold.

"Come on, Kai," appealed Rei from the side of the room, "the Bladebreakers aren't a team without you."

Kai opened his eyes again, and spared a moment to look over to the girl in the corner of the room, who was still staring at him slightly wide eyed. "And who are you?"

"Oh!" she squeaked, startled that he addressed her so directly. "I'm Hilary. Hilary Tachibana. It's...it's nice to meet you, Kai."

"Hn."

"Don't worry about her, Kai. She's just this annoying girl from my class, she likes to tag along. Can't get rid of her," Tyson said nonchalantly from the bed.

"What?" Kai flinched a little internally as the girl shrieked. She was _loud_.

"Don't pay him any attention, Hil," Max chipped in from the chair. "Tyson's just messing, aren't you Ty?"

"Nope."

"_Ty_-son!"

"Guys!" Max waved his arms around and tried to stare each of them down in-between rotations. "Aaaanyway. Kai, Hilary _is_ a girl from Tyson's class. And she's been helping us train for the past year, actually."

"Oh, really. Well then I guess you don't need me after all."

"What? Dude, where did that come from?" Tyson said, sitting up on the bed and staring disbelievingly at Kai.

"Yeah, Kai. You're our captain – of course we need you!" added Rei.

"Was, Rei. I _was_ your captain. But not anymore. I've retired from beyblading."

The room was met with an uncomfortable silence. Kenny had stopped typing away on Dizzi. Max's spinning on the chair had slowed to a stop. As Kai felt all eyes on him, he drew himself up to his full height, awaiting the protests that he knew were coming.

"What? Why!" Kai turned his eyes back to Tyson, who was still on his bed. His voice was forceful and Kai ignored the glimmer of hurt he thought he saw in the navy haired teen's eyes. It was his decision, and Kai would not be made to feel guilty because of it. Tyson then stood up and came to stand right in front of him. Kai noticed he'd grown quite a bit taller since they last spoke. "Don't tell me that we came all this way – _all of us_ – just for you shrug us off without so much as a reason!"

"Tyson... maybe –"

"No, Hilary. Kai's been a jerk to us before, but he _always_ had a reason. So, what is it this time, Kai? Why won't you blade with us?"

"Because, Tyson. I'm already the World Champion," he said, narrowing his eyes and ignoring Tyson when he tried to correct the 'I' to a 'we.' He knew he was being a jerk once again, but he didn't like the way Tyson was getting in his face. "I'm the best. I've beaten everyone. There isn't anyone else to battle, or anything else to prove."

"...You haven't beaten me." Tyson said quietly after a few seconds.

Once more, the room was met with an uncomfortable silence. Kai surveyed the navy haired Japanese boy with interest. He was looking down at the floor and his eyes were hidden by his messy navy bangs. Did he just say what Kai thought he said?

"What did you say?"

"You heard."

"Are you saying you're better than me?"

Tyson then lifted his head and stared unflinchingly into his ex-captain's eyes. "I'm saying you like to think you're better, but you haven't even backed it up yet."

There was a few seconds of heated glaring before Kai backed off with a, "Fine." He unceremoniously shoved past Tyson and started rummaging through his draws. After a few seconds, he'd found what he was looking for. Turning around, he held out his Dranzer blade towards Tyson and said, "You and me. Outside. Now." Tyson narrowed his eyes in response and smirked in response, a familiar fire igniting in his dark brown eyes. "If you win – which you won't – I'll rejoin the team as your captain, and we'll go to the tournament. If I win – which I will – you leave me in peace."

Tyson stared at the ground for a few seconds with a slightly far away look on his face, before rummaging in his pocket for his blade. He then held it out to Kai in exactly the same manner and said, with bold determination, "Bring it!"

**–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––**

Kai took his launching stance as he stood a distance away from Tyson in the woods near their school. He let himself experience the familiar feel of his fingers on the rip cord, and the surge of anticipation and adrenaline before battle.

Rei was positioned between the two to oversee the match, and Max, Kenny and Hilary were seated a little way away, leaning against the trunk of a wide tree. "Were they always like this?" Hilary whispered to the two boys.

"Well, it depends what you mean by 'this.'" Max offered in response.

"I mean, like, _hostile._ I know Tyson's competitive, but Kai seems so...cold. Are you sure you were all good friends with him?"

"Kai is...complicated," said Kenny insightfully, adjusting his glasses to look at the dual-headed captain as he spoke. "He's independent, private, and very proud. He likes to do things his own way or not at all. During the last rounds of the Championships in Moscow, we managed to get close enough to him for him to reveal the warmth that he keeps deep down ('_very deep!'_ Dizzi chimed) inside but…it seems over the last year and a half he's reconsidered that openness."

"Hmm," Hilary considered Kenny's words, but then Max chipped in before she had articulated anything else.

"Kai's a nice guy, really, once you get to know him. Sure, he can seem indifferent and even rude, but he _did_ look out for us all that time we were traveling around Europe, even though a lot of the time he just wandered off and left us. And he's dependable too. Even though he ditched us for the Demolition Boys in Moscow, he made things right in the end."

Hilary's face fell as she listened to Max. He left them alone in Europe, and ditched their team in the tournament? "Somehow Maxi, you're not really doing a good job of selling him."

Max laughed in response. "Really Hilary, he's a good guy – he even saved my life once in America! He might look cold on the outside, but you can always rely on him to do what's right. Just give him a chance."

Hilary stared back out to the center of the clearing in the woods and took in the strong, proud form of this mysterious young man she knew nothing about. He was tall, and well defined, and in his face there was a maturity she didn't see in any of the other guys, not even Rei. But in his deep crimson eyes, she could see something else. It wasn't wisdom, or fear, or experience, or innocence, or arrogance – and yet it was all of these things. Kai's eyes were like mirrors, reflecting everything and revealing nothing. She wondered why.

She let her eyes trail slowly down his body until they reached the ground. There, she saw countless trails of what she was _sure_ were beyblade tracks. She wondered how many times Kai had stood here and bladed alone. She wondered if he missed his team. She wondered if he even realised.

"Alright guys, are you ready?" Rei said, initiating the match. Tyson nodded, and Kai narrowed his eyes in response. "Okay. Three - two - one –"

"– Let it rip!"

Kai pulled back on his rip cord, and immediately went on the offensive. "Go Dranzer, attack!"

"Dragoon, counter it!"

The two beyblades circled one another in the center of the clearing three times, testing their bladers determination, before pulling back and then colliding with each other at top speed, blue and white, in a fierce battle for supremacy.

Kai had been avoiding this match. He didn't want to admit it, but that was his main reason for staying out of touch with his whole team.

He'd never bladed for his own enjoyment before. After he recovered his memories, he'd remembered that in his childhood he was just a tool of the Abbey, that blading was just something he'd learned as a means of fighting for a cause he didn't understand. When he left the Abbey, he'd bladed for his Grandfather's greed and his own bitterness. When he'd rejoined the Demolition Boys in Moscow, it was to take control of Black Dranzer as the final pawn in Boris' plans for world domination. When he'd fought with the Bladebreakers, it was to put an end to the tyranny the Abbey once and for all, and to right all of the wrongs he'd done to his team.

Kai had always bladed for something to _do_, but now that all that was over and he had a world title to his name, there was nothing else _to_ do. He had already proved himself as the best over everyone. Or so he liked to think.

Kai cast his mind back to the confrontation in his room, and let himself hear the words he knew Tyson wanted to say, but didn't. The words that Kai could see written all over his face even now.

"I'm saying you like to think you're better, but you haven't even backed it up yet. _You say you're the World Champion, but you forget we earned that title as a team. You say you're the best, but you forget which one of us lost their round in the finals._"

Kai gritted his teeth as he tried to keep his head in the game. It was true. Rei was shredded to pieces by Bryan and Tyson was trapped in a frozen wasteland, but they had both won their rounds. Kai had lost each of his matches with Spencer in a matter of minutes. He couldn't believe it. He didn't want to believe that he was the weak link on the team. He couldn't even do the right thing and stand by them, accepting Black Dranzer and betraying them when he thought it would make him stronger, give him the perfection he'd always been striving for. And when he'd turned back and fought with the Bladebreakers to make things right, he couldn't even do that properly.

So he'd decided to quit while he was ahead.

But now here his team were, asking him to take up his position as their captain, fighting for him to stay with them – and he didn't understand why. They weren't making any sense. They should've been glad to see the back of him. But this was no Math equation or Physics paper. There was no right or wrong answer, no patterns or rules to follow, and Kai didn't know what to do.

He didn't know what he _wanted_ to do.

Kai was pulled out of his musings when he suddenly felt his blade get pushed violently backwards by Tyson's. It flipped over in the air once before landing back on its tip, wobbling slightly. "What's the matter, Kai?" Tyson smirked, "Gettin' a little rusty in your retirement?"

Oh, he knew what he wanted to do. He wanted to wipe that smug little grin right off of Tyson's face.

"T'chh, don't bet your game on it, Tyson. Dranzer!" Kai summoned his bit-beast, suddenly reinvigorated and focused on the game. Dranzer rose majestically out of Kai's blade, spreading her glorious wings and voicing out a melodious, yet awe-inspiring cry. Her body was cloaked in amber and ruby flames, and she swept around the clearing once before coming to rest behind her master.

Hilary's eyes grew to the size of dish plates when she saw Dranzer rise up. "So that's Kai's bit beast…"

"Yeah.." said Max, "quite a sight, isn't she?"

"Oh, so you're going all out then after all, huh? Well, Dragoon and I ain't gonna' refuse an invitation to party, especially when there's chicken on the menu – Dragoon!" The dragon rose up out of Tyson's blade and wasted no time in flexing its strong and wiry body. He let out a piercing cry, and winds whipped about him as he moved. He took up his position behind Tyson and his eyes were fixed on the opponent.

"You know, Tyson, you should quit the trash talk while you're ahead, it doesn't do you any favours."

"Wow Kai, you're talkative today! You must be happy to see me after all."

"Don't count on it. Dranzer, Flame Saber!" Kai's beyblade began to glow a violent red, and flames were summoned up around it as Kai prepared his attack.

"Ha, nice try, Kai, but I've seen that one before. Dragoon, Vanishing Attack!" Dragoon let out an almighty roar, and immediately Tyson's beyblade began to spin so fast that within a matter of seconds, it had disappeared and evaded Kai's attack. It then reappeared seconds later, right behind Kai's blade, poised to attack.

"Dranzer, evade!"

Tyson's blade shot out towards Kai's, who had just narrowly managed to avoid it. The attack still made contact, however, and knocked Kai's Dranzer just out of balance. He watched as it wobbled slightly on the spot once again.

Damn, Tyson has gotten good over the past year. His turns were sharper, his reflexes were quicker, and his offense was much more persistent. Kai began to wonder just what the small girl was doing with him in their training. He'd have to find out somehow.

But for now, he had to concentrate on the game. Even though Kai had said he was retiring, that wasn't to say he hadn't picked up his blade since then. And there was a little something he'd been working on which he needed a test subject for.

"Dranzer, attack now! Volcano Emission!"

"Wh - what?" Tyson stuttered, not recognising the name. "Dragoon, counter it with Phantom Hurricane Attack!"

The two beyblades and bit beasts whipped up their own elements around them, fire and air, and dove in for the final attack. They collided with brute force, each vying for the top position and never backing down an inch. Sparks flew as the two blades kept up the assault, each grinding and trying to force the other to a halt. Suddenly, the battle was enveloped in a huge light. The bladers were pushed back by the enormous winds, and embers whipped around in the air.

Then, all was still.

After the dust had settled, Tyson and Kai, both panting slightly from the effort of their final attacks, looked to the ground to see the final result. There, lying motionless on the ground, was Tyson's blade.

Not two feet away was Kai's Dranzer, also motionless.

"It.. it's a tie!" Rei declared.

"What? Aw man! But I gave that last attack my all!"

There was a few moments of silence as both bladers took in the result of the match. A tie. He still hadn't beaten Tyson. But he hadn't lost, either. Kai stepped forward slowly and picked up his motionless blade. His Dranzer wasn't too badly damaged from the fight, nothing the Chief couldn't fix. Wait, Kenny wouldn't be fixing anything at all, right? He wasn't going back with them, was he?

"So…dude, what now?" Kai lifted his eyes towards Tyson, who was now standing just a few feet away and cradling his own blade in his hands. Kai spared a glance towards Dragoon and he was surprised to see that it actually fared a little worse off than his own.

_What now._

Well, that was the question. Kai tore his eyes away from Tyson and stared off into the distance as he thought about the match. It had been a while since he'd fought with the teen and he didn't want to admit that he'd relished a little in the familiar feeling. Dishing out the trash talk and fighting to prove who was the better blader – it had been a while since he'd done that. He remembered the rush of adrenaline he felt as he called out Dranzer, and the slight trepidation he always felt each time his blade made contact with the opponent's. That split second of anticipation, of waiting to see if the attack would land, or backfire. Kai remembered the feeling of having to think on his feet, of changing his strategy and pulling out all the shots when he was met with the unexpected. The moments of silence after a battle, waiting to see the result.

But that wasn't what he missed. If Kai was honest, he had missed being surrounded by the team. The sound of their jokes, their banter, their foolish arguments and their complaints about his training schedule. As much as their immaturity, and their noise, and their slacking off had annoyed him when they were last together, they had always tried to involve him. Always tried to make him feel like he was a part of the group, no matter how much distance he tried to keep. And here they were, trying to get him involved again.

He _was_ a little touched. But he sure as hell wasn't going to let that show.

Kai closed his eyes and smirked his trademark smirk, before folding his arms and turning on his heel, stalking off into the distance.

"Hey! Kai, where you going, man?"

Kai stopped several feet away from his navy-headed team mate and spoke without turning around. "It seems I have some packing to do," he announced. He then looked back over his shoulder at Tyson, and stared him dead in the eye with steely determination. "So you better enjoy the rest of this afternoon, Tyson. Because training begins _tomorrow."_ He then whipped around on his heel, and stalked off.

Tyson blinked in response, before punching the air with his fist and shouting, "Oh yeah, alright! The Bladebreakers are back in action!"

Kai continued to walk away from his team, shoving his hands into his pockets and smirking a little as he listened to the sounds of his team's cheers fade into the distance.

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN: **Trust Kai to hog the longest chapter so far. Chapters are quickly averaging from between 2-4k to 3-5k words. xD Not a HUGE increase but they are getting longer. I'll try and keep them under 5k, I think.  
>Anyway, yes, Kai is back people, and the Bladebreakers ARE back in action. :)<em>

_**Next chapter****:** Today 8D _


	9. The Good Old Days

_Like I said guys, double update today, so **if you haven't read [Chapter Seven: Rematch] yet,** then you should go back and read it, because it feature's Kai in all his screen time hogging glory._

_We're sticking with the Bladebreakers for this chapter too, the day after they manage to rope Kai back into the team. :3  
>On a side note, I have been waiting to get this chapter published FOREVER, so I hope you all reading it as much as I've enjoyed writing it. 8DD <em>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Eight: The Good Old Days<strong>

Tyson spared a moment to glance around him in awe, before wondering just exactly how he managed to get into this situation. Not that he was complaining – hell no.

It _looked_ like he was in a Harem. He was lounging back on some rich purple silky sheets in the most luxuriously grand four-poster bed he had ever seen. The frame was made of rich ebony wood and gilded with antique gold, and into each post was carved intricate designs of interlocking dragons. His head was resting back on some big, firm golden pillows and there was a pleasantly cool breeze floating through the room. But that wasn't all.

Because Tyson was also surrounded by girls.

Blondes, redheads, brunettes, some with blue hair like him, some with pink or violet. They were all drop dead gorgeous and they were all looking at him with teasingly shy smiles on their faces. Two of the girls nearest him were perched daintily on the edge of his bed, one on either side, and they had in their hands huge platters of oh-so-delectable looking treats. Another two a little further off were fanning him with some large white-peacock feathered fans.

Okay, so Tyson accepted that he _must_ be in a Harem – all these girls were dressed in red, pink, and purple skimpy little outfits, just like the ones you would see in Middle Eastern Palaces in the olden times. He resisted the urge to drool a little.

"_...Tyson._"

Tyson turned his head towards the end of the bed in response, and there he saw Hilary. He was about to ask her what she was doing here and tell her that it wasn't what it looked like, but the words died in his mouth when he saw her. Only Tyson had the vague feeling as he looked at her, that he had never _really_ _seen_ her until now.

She was standing at the end of his bed with one arm wrapped lazily around the bedpost, leaning her head against it. She was smiling at him mischievously, and her ruby eyes were twinkling. Her hair was styled differently, he noticed. Instead of flicking out messily, it was sleek and straightened up, tied back lazily with all sorts of delicate golden ornaments hanging in it. Around her neck and wrists were countless golden chains which jangled slightly. And her _body_. She was wearing a sleek, pale gold chiffon wrap around her chest. Her midriff was completely bare, and around her hips she was wearing similar gold coloured pants, around which was wrapped a teasingly see through light gold wrap, which only covered as far down as her mid-thigh anyway.

Before Tyson could even articulate anything, Hilary was suddenly on her hands and knees on the end of the bed, crawling slowly towards him. "Hi - Hilary, what're you do –"

She placed a finger on his lips to silence him, and smiled seductively before saying, _"It's time for practice, Tyson…"_

Tyson frowned slightly at the sound of her voice, it echoed around the room and sounded strangely distant. But then all thoughts were pushed out of his mind as Hilary pushed her lips on to his, forceful and eager. Tyson went rigid for a split second in shock. _What was she doing?_

Oh screw it, he thought.

Tyson abandoned all modesty, pulled Hilary more firmly onto his lap and kissed her right back, even more forceful and eager than she. Her lips were warm and soft, and she was trailing her hands teasingly down his chest. Tyson brushed his tongue against her lips and felt a rush of male pride when she opened her mouth to him. _What was he doing?_ He didn't know. All he knew was that it felt good. He was a hot-blooded male after all, and who in their right mind would refuse the advances of a hot girl, anyway? And boy, was Hilary hot today.

Actually, Tyson thought as he trailed his fingers down her back, she _was_ hot. His body was tingling with heat from where her hands were touching him all over, and his lips were burning from where they met hers.

Hell, his mouth was on _fire!_

Tyson opened his eyes in confusion and was horrified to see the room was up in flames around him. He could hear the crackling of the fire, and feel the embers licking at every inch of his body. To the side, he saw the other harem girls standing in the midst of the blaze. Then, in unison, they all turned their eyes to him and opened up their mouths and out of them flew tongues of flame which morphed into phoenixes. The birds of fire flew about the room in a circle and only added to the rising inferno. But that wasn't all.

When Tyson looked in front of him to see Hilary, he realised it wasn't her that he was kissing at all.

It was Kai.

"AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!" Tyson sat bolt upright in his bed, panting and darting his eyes around the room in panic. He then screamed once more, just for good measure.

It wasn't until he heard stifled laughter from the doorway that he came to his senses. Looking around, he realised that he was still in his bedroom in the dojo. He was all tangled up in his pale blue bed sheets, and his hair was a mess. Looking up, he saw Kai standing over him to the left of his bed with his arms folded and a cruel smirk on his face. To his right he saw Hilary, who was also grinning cruelly and hiding something behind her back. Behind them, standing in the doorway he saw Max and Rei, still in their pajamas. Max was covering his mouth with his hands trying to stifle his laughter, and Rei just had his arms folded and was laughing openly.

Tyson's mouth was still on fire.

Then he put two and two together. _Chillies. _

"Dude!" he shouted, narrowing his eyes and glaring at Kai from his bed, "What the hell, man!"

Hilary let out a tinker of a laugh. "Should I cool him down now, Kai?"

Kai raised his eyebrows and smirked a little wider in response. "Go ahead."

Tyson's eyes darted between the pair in confusion, wondering what the hell was going on. When did _they_ become so chummy? And what did Hilary mean by _cooling him down?_ Was she going to bring him a glass of milk? He sure hoped so, because he really didn't want to suffer third-degree burns to his mouth because of Kai's sadistic wake-up calls. Stupid Kai – he hadn't even been back for one day yet and he was already making his life hell! And the others were no better either, joining in with Kai's torture and laughing at his misery. He was beginning to reconsider letting them all stay at his dojo during the run up to the tournament.

However, all of Tyson's mental complaining was brought to a halt when Hilary revealed what she was hiding behind her back. It looked suspiciously like a bucket, and the noise it made when she brought it forward sounded suspiciously like the slopping of ice-water. Tyson was certain he didn't like the look on her face one bit.

"Hi – Hilary… what are you doing?" Tyson said weakly. Hilary didn't bother answering him though. Instead, she just smiled at him innocently and threw the bucketful of ice cold water over him with one graceful sweep of her arms.

Tyson's screams were drowned out by the sound of the ice-water splashing all over him, and Max and Rei's laughter. Even Kai let out the tiniest snicker. Tyson sat on his bed, shivering pathetically and trying warm himself up by rubbing his arms. His pajamas were soaked through and his usually wild navy hair was now plastered to his face. "Ya know, K-Kai," he said though chattering teeth, trying to glare hatefully at him, but failing miserably, "I'm be-beginning to re-reconsider my invita-tation. You can g-go back to your p-posh little school if y-you want t-to, and w-we'll find a new ca-captain." Kai raised an amused eyebrow in response, but said nothing. Then Tyson, sniffing the air, said, "Wh-what's that sm-smell?"

"Five am," Kai replied cooly. He then spun around on his heel and began to leave the room, "You better get up and get your breakfast, Tyson, because training begins in half an hour."

Tyson's expression shattered amusingly, and he whined, "B-but Kai! I've g-got school t-today!" The only reply he received was Hilary's tinkering laugh from the side of the room. He twisted around to face her, and narrowed his eyes at her venomously. "And what are _y-you_ laughing at, you little w-witch?" His fury was marred somewhat by his pathetic shivering.

"You, obviously," she replied, rolling her eyes at him.

"Yeah? Well, th-this is the last time I let y-you sleep over here!"

"Whatever Tyson, just get dressed. I'll make you guys some toast." She said, addressing them all. And then she left the room to the sound of Tyson mumbling something about 'ungrateful' and 'devious' and 'ganging up on him like that.'

"Man, Tyson…" Max said as he eased into the room and sat on the only corner of Tyson's bed that wasn't wet. His slightly puffy eyes and tousled hair were the only indication that the blonde had only recently woken up, because he was just as cheery as ever. "You look traumatized."

"Yeah Ty, you look really out of it…" Rei smirked, leaning against the door frame, "were you having a bad dream?"

"No!" Tyson shouted defensively, "I wasn't having any dream! Who said I was dreaming?"

"Wow, you don't sound defensive at all," Rei mocked from the doorframe.

"Yeah, now I _really_ wanna know what he was dreaming." Max chirped. _What was this_, the navy-headed teen thought, '_let's all bully Tyson day?'_

"Arghh, get outta my room, guys!" Tyson growled in frustration and lobbed a soaking wet pillow at his blonde haired best friend. However, Max ducked the poor throw and the pillow simply landed at Rei's feet pathetically with a wet 'plop.'

The teasing duo left the room snickering, and Tyson was left alone on his wet bed sheets wondering what the hell kind of pizza he ate last night that gave him such horrible, horrible dreams.

**––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––**

Tyson left the school building, alone and grumbling. This was just not his day.

First off, he was tired and aching because Kai wouldn't let him leave for school until he'd completed all his launching drills, two hundred push-ups and a hundred ab-crunches. Then, because he was in such a hurry to avoid a late detention, he forgot to pick up his lunch money when he left the dojo so he didn't have anything to eat all day besides the burnt toast Hilary made him for breakfast. As if that wasn't bad enough, he was still late anyway! Then his math teacher screwed at him for not doing his homework (he meant to do it yesterday, but forgot because they all went to see Kai), so he ended up having a _double_ detention! Plus, he had detention for the rest of the week for missing his homework, _and_ extra homework as punishment!

"Argh, this _sucks!_ Stupid Kai and his training regime. Gah, who needs him anyway?" Tyson muttered to himself as he made his way down the sidewalk, glaring and kicking at a stray Pepsi can that dared to cross his path. He had his hands stuffed into his pockets and wore an uncharacteristic scowl on his face.

When he eventually returned to the dojo, Tyson was surprised to find that the yard was empty. He thought he'd find Kai and Hilary putting everyone through the ringer, but they were nowhere to be seen. He kicked off his shoes in the entryway and walked in.

"Uhh...guys?" he called out, looking into the training room, the lounge and then the kitchen. But they weren't there either. "Hmm, that's weird." Even weirder was the fact that he was talking to himself. He should probably stop doing that before someone saw him and thought he was losing his marbles as well as his team.

He was making his way to his bedroom when he heard a floorboard creak suspiciously behind him. He turned around to look, thinking that it was probably Max playing a prank on him, when he suddenly saw his grandpa hurtling through the air towards him with his wooden kendo sword held above his head.

"Heads up, home-dog!"

"Ahh, gramps!" Tyson yelled, before ducking the surprise attack. "You gotta stop doin' that, man! It's _not_ cool!"

Grandpa picked himself up off the floor before countering with just as much gusto, "Now whatch'ya trying to say there, homie? That I don't know what's down with the hip n' happenin'?"

"Ugh, please grandpa," Tyson said, visibly face palming. "Just...stop talking?"

"Hmph," Grandpa said in response, but didn't say anything more. He looked down at his grandson with concern in his eyes before continuing, "Bad day, T–dog?"

"Pfft, yeah, you can say that again!" Tyson said, throwing his arms up into the air and collapsing backwards onto his bed. Grandpa resisted the urge to say 'that again' and instead just waited for Tyson to continue. "I've had nothing to eat all day except burnt toast, and I've got detention for a week for missing my math homework – not to mention that Kai and Hilary have formed a tag-team training duo from hell!"

Grandpa's eyes sparkled with amusement. Ah yes, the woes of being a teenager. "Chin up, my man! At least you've got your team up and runnin' again for the tournament!" He then laughed as Tyson groaned and mumbled something about how more tournaments equaled more training and less sleep. "And that home-girl of yours seems to be gelling pretty nice with your home-boys, 'specially K–dog. That's gotta be a good thing."

Tyson sat up on his bed and leveled his grandpa with a serious look. "Hilary and Kai?"

"Yeah! I heard 'em talking earlier, seems they've formed a pretty hip workin' relationship. Seems Kai thinks she's done a pretty nice job of keeping you and little Maxi on your toes this past year and wants her to act as the team's coach so he can umm, what'd he say?" Grandpa cleared his voice before continuing in a deep-voiced Kai impression, "_'Actually get some training in myself, instead of wasting my breath trying to get Tyson to move a muscle'_ or somethin' like that."

Tyson's jaw dropped as he listened to his grandpa speak. Brilliant, he thought, that was all he needed. The two biggest slave-drivers on earth joining forces only spelled misfortune and misery for this poor world champion. "Great," he spat. His life as a carefree teenager was officially over. Then he heard his stomach rumbling. "Yeah," he said mournfully, glancing down to his belly, "You better get used to that. Now that Kai and Hilary have teamed up we won't be getting much time to eat properly."

His grandpa laughed heartily before turning around and leaving the room. Calling over his shoulder he said, "By the way, I left some grub in the kitchen for you, T-dog."

Immediately Tyson's eyes lit up. He launched himself off the bed and flew right past his grandpa in the hall, jokingly calling 'thanks G-dog!' on his way past.

He was just about to tuck into some ramen and fried rice when he heard voices in the yard. Sounded like Max and the guys were back.

"Oh, there you are Tyson." Tyson groaned internally. Looking back over his shoulder, he saw Hilary standing in the doorway. She was dressed in her training outfit, which consisted of a tiny little pink tank top and some white short-shorts. She had her arms folded and was leaning against the doorframe, looking slightly breathless. There was a slight blush covering her cheeks.

"T'chh, d'you think you could put some clothes on for once, Hil?" Then he blinked at himself in shock. Were did that come from?

"What?" she yelled, blushing even more and piercing Tyson's eardrums slightly.

"Well, you heard! Prancing about the place in your little short-shorts. Don't you realise you're in a house full of guys?" Even as he said it, his eyes were roaming over her legs against his own will. She actually had a pretty nice pair of legs – he didn't know why he hadn't noticed before. Okay, and stop that thought _right there._ Stupid Hilary, getting into his dreams last night and making him think things he did _not_ want to think. What was she doing, dressing like that anyway?

"Urghh, _Ty_-son, you're such a perv!" Hilary screeched, trying to cover her legs with her little hands. It wasn't working. Tyson rolled his eyes at her attempts before grabbing his bowl of ramen and stepping around her to leave the kitchen. "Hey, and just where do you think you're going?" she called, stomping down the hallway after him.

"Duh! Out into the yard to eat my food in peace."

"Oh no you don't." She said, speeding up to overtake him and lifting the bowl of noodles from his hands.

"Hey, give that back!"

"No –"

"Yes –"

"No!"

"Arghh, Hilary!"

By this point they had reached the yard and were bickering like a pair of toddlers. Max and Rei had stopped in their tracks to watch and Kenny just walked straight past them, already too used to their arguing to pay much attention. He simply sat down on the porch and opened up Dizzy. Kai was nowhere to be seen.

"_We've_ just come back from a three mile run, Tyson." Hilary said, starting up again and depositing his noodles on the porch next to Kenny. Then she twisted around to look at him again with her hands on her hips. Man, Tyson thought, she looks pissed. He'd have to make a mental note not to mention her lack of clothing again.

"Yeah. What's your point?"

"Well, you missed out on it. So," she said, narrowing her eyes at him, "you're just going to have to go out now and make up for it."

His jaw dropped. "What?" He hadn't even finished his noodles yet! He tried to put on his puppy-dog face and looked at her pleadingly. "But Hil, it's not _my_ fault I got detention!"

"Oh, no, of course. It couldn't possibly be your fault that you didn't do your math homework. Again."

"Urgh, whatever. I'm _not_ going out for a run, Hilary."

"_I'm_ your coach, and I say you are, Tyson."

"Oh no I'm not!"

"Oh yes you are. _And_ if I hear one more word, I'll make you run another two miles as a penalty, you hear!"

"Pfft," Tyson said, rolling his eyes, "Who died and made you queen?"

"Tyson." He spun around in response to the threateningly low voice behind his ear. Standing right behind him, with his arms folded and a dangerous glint in his eyes, was Kai. Where the hell did he come from? His face was only a few inches away from Tyson's own – much too close. He suddenly had a sinking feeling of deja-vu.

"Arghh!" Tyson said, jumping back about three feet and hiding behind Hilary, "Dude, get out of my face!" He did _not_ want to see Kai's face anywhere near his own, not after that nightmare he had this morning!

Kai just raised a bemused eyebrow at the navy haired japanese blader's strange behaviour before glancing at Max and Rei for an answer. They shrugged and shook their heads, just as confused. "Hn. Whatever." He then began to stalk into the dojo, but as he reached the doorway he stopped and called over his shoulder. "Oh, and Tyson. Either you're going out on that run, or you're doing one thousand squats. Your choice."

When Kai disappeared around the corner, Tyson collapsed amusingly to his knees in despair. "Aahhh! Why can't a guy just go to school without getting detention and eat some ramen and take a nap in the afternoon in peace?" he shouted, throwing his arms up to the heavens as if pleading for an answer.

Max and Rei snickered behind their hands at him, while Hilary rolled her eyes and told him to stop being such a baby.

"It's not that bad, Ty." Max came over to stand by his best friend and lay a hand on his shoulder during his hour of need. "If you think about it, this is just like the good old days!" He then laughed as he heard Tyson mumble something about the good old days not being all that good.

"You know," Hilary chirped, patting him on the head mockingly, "the quicker you start your run, the quicker it'll be over." She then took a step back and offered him a hand and a smile. "Come on, I'll come with you. But only for like, half the way."

Tyson's groans were drowned out by the laughing of his team mates. And so began the first day of the next two month's training for the tournament.

Well, it could be worse. At least it wasn't raining.

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN:** I've realised that Kenny's become sort of a walking shadow, I really need to work on writing him in a little more somehow. I'm sure he does other things besides type on Dizzi all the time. :/_  
><em>Anyway, next chapter we'll be dropping on on the <strong>White Tigers<strong> as they train for the tournament too, because they haven't had any time in the spotlight yet. Greedy Tyson, hogging too many chapters._  
><em>So, that's it for the big update today, hope you've enjoyed it. <strong>Merry Christmas! :)<strong>_

_**Next Chapter:** Saturday_


	10. Prickly Pears and Pearls of Wisdom

_**A/N:** Guys, I am SO sorry with the late update! D: Totally unintentional, but you know what it's like in the holidays, I'm sure. You're busy with family and friends, you take advantage of the time off school and neglect stuff. Your dad buys you the Sims and you lose track of EVERYTHING while you make people and build houses. Ahem, yeah, sorry. Anyway, as promised, here are the White Tigers, finally getting some screen time._

_Thanks to **country-grl20** and **AquilaTempestas** for reviewing. Much love. :)_

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Nine: Prickly Pears and Pearls of Wisdom<strong>

"Now Galux, Cat Scratch attack!"

"Dodge it Galman, Crazy Monkey!"

Mariah watched as Kevin's beyblade began to wobble and blur before splitting into three. She effortlessly dispatched of the two decoy blades when they shot towards her, before coming to collide with Kevin's blade in midair. His Galman was pushed backwards and landed clumsily on one of the stepping stones in the lake they were practicing on. Mariah was stood at one end of the lake on one of the larger stepping stones, smirking as she watched Kevin try to make Galman regain balance after the last attack. Kevin was at the opposite end of the lake, glaring at his blade and trying to make it stop wobbling.

It was the middle of the afternoon and the White Tigers were practicing for the tournament. The sun was high in the sky and the sounds of birdsong weaved through the breeze that passed by. Every now and then a catfish or two would jump out of the lake, as if they'd been sent up by their friends to get an update on the match. The lake was spotted with stepping stones and water lilies, and it was here that the bladers practiced on to hone agility and precision.

Lee was stood at the far end of the lake with his arms folded, overseeing the match. Gary was sat on the bank of the lake with his toes in the water. He was smiling as some curious little Koi fish swam up to see the cause of the ripples in their lake, and he was contentedly eating a mango.

Kevin cursed as his blade began to loose speed from spinning out of balance for too long. Then he cursed again as he heard Mariah's tinkering laugh from the other side of the clearing. "Argh, quit your laughing. Galman, attack!"

Mariah watched through sparkling eyes as Kevin's blade wobbled once, twice, then jumped up off the stepping stone it was spinning on. It flipped over pathetically once in the air before landing on the next stone and wobbling again.

"All right Mariah, wrap it up," Lee called, bringing an end to the clearly one sided battle.

"No problem, Lee. Galux, finish it!" In one swift movement, Mariah's blade shot off the stone it was balanced on before meeting Kevin's unbalanced blade in the middle. She knocked it backwards with ease and it landed on the bank behind him. She then called back her own blade and pocketed it with a sly smile. "Well, I'd like to say that was fun, but it really wasn't."

"Shut up, Mariah. It's not me, it's this stupid new magnacore! It's gotta be broken or something." He trailed off, grumbling to himself.

"Ha, whatever Kevin. You're just loosing your edge."

"Hey, break it up you two and get over here." Lee voiced, calling an end to the bickering before it began. Mariah sent one more teasing look towards the smallest member on their team before lithely skipping from stone to stone across the lake and stopping beside her elder brother. Kevin merely jumped backwards off the stone he was stood on before trudging around the lake the long way to meet his team, grumbling the whole way with his hands in his pockets.

"So Lee, how'd I do?"

"Mariah you were fine. You've got the hang of controlling Galux with the magnacore, but I just want you to work on putting a little more power into your attacks. Right now you're favouring speed over everything else, I want you to balance your approach a little more."

"Sure thing, Lee."

"And Kevin," said the captain, turning to Kevin who had just reached the group. "You really need to start focusing."

"What?" the green haired blader exclaimed, throwing his little arms up into the air. "I am focusing! I'm not the problem, it's the stupid magnacore –"

"It's not the magnacore, Kevin. You've gotta stop thinking of ways to distract your opponent and start focusing on your own blade, otherwise you'll never get control of it. It was your idea to upgrade our blades, anyway. Remember?"

"Yeah yeah, whatever," Kevin mumbled, folding his arms and blowing a puff of air up his bangs.

Lee was about to speak again when they were all interrupted by the sound of a long, low grumbling to the side of them. In unison, Kevin, Mariah and Lee all turned their heads to the side and looked down at Gary, who was still sitting at the side of the lake and was now smiling at them rather meekly. His stomach gave another grumble to fill the silence.

"Oh Gary," Mariah said rolling her eyes, "Don't tell us you're still hungry. You've been eating this whole time!" She walked over towards him and crouched down at the side of the lake, twiddling her finger around on the water to try and attract some fish. She smiled when a Koi fish came and nudged her hand.

"Only mangos," Gary protested. "I have a big appetite."

"You don't have an appetite, Gary," Kevin said, jumping on Gary's back with a mischievous light in his eyes. "You have a black hole."

"Hey Kevin, watch out –" Mariah started, but it was too late. Gary had already lost balance and toppled forwards into the lake with a splash. She shrieked and held her hands out in front of her to cover her face from the splashes and the Koi fish wriggled away just in time to avoid being flattened. Kevin had fallen with his mouth wide open in mid-laugh and was now spluttering and trying to regain his breath. Gary resurfaced just a few seconds later with a lily pad gracing his head and he leveled Kevin with a highly unamused glare.

"I'm wet," the bearlike blader said through narrowed eyes.

Kevin took just a few moments to stop coughing before croakily snarking back, "Well done, genius. You fell in the lake."

"You pushed me."

"No I didn't!"

Gary quickly lost patience and pushed Kevin under the water by the head. He was splashing around trying to wriggle free and Lee decided to cut in before Gary actually accidently drowned him.

"Hey! That's enough guys, quit it."

Gary let go of Kevin and climbed out of the lake, shaking the water out of his hair and making Mariah shriek and hold out her hands in front of her again. "Gary!" The big blader just laughed a little before turning to look at his captain.

"Right, we may as well head back now and grab some lunch," he said, much to Gary's delight.

"Aw, sweet, 'cause I'm starting!" Kevin piped up, climbing out of the lake and sweeping his wet hair out of his eyes. "I claim the dumplings!" he announced.

"No you don't!" Mariah said, shoving him back into the lake with a splash with a flourish, "_I_ claim the dumplings since _you_ ate them all last time!" She then began to run off down the path as Kevin climbed out of the lake and chased after her.

Lee shook his eyes at the pair with a faint glimmer of mirth in his eyes before turning to Gary and making his way down the path as well.

**––––––––––––––––––––––––––––**

Kevin propped his chin up on his hand and look down miserably at his bowl of rice, and huffed. Mariah beat him to the dumplings and Lee and Gary were chowing down on the stir fry, so he was left with just rice and a few spring rolls. They weren't even duck – just vegetable ones! Stupid team, ganging up on him because he was small. He turned his purple eyes longingly to Mariah's dumplings.

"Keep your eyes off my food, Kevin," she said, looking down at him from the corner of her eyes.

"Pft. You know, Mariah...it would probably be good for you if you let me have some of those."

"Oh, really," she said, rolling her eyes and turning to him. "And why's that?"

"Well, I was just thinking," he began with a sly look at his pink haired friend, "Now that you're like, with Rei and all, you'd wanna watch your weight." He spared a moment to appreciate the highly unamused look, before continuing. "And I would _hate_ for all those dumplings to go to your hips."

She swatted him with her hand sharply and bit back, "Whatever, Kevin. Just keep your eyes off my dumplings _and_ my hips."

Kevin cackled with laughter at the statement for a few moments, earning himself another swat. Then he said, "Would you share your hips and your _dumplings_ with Rei if he asked?"

He ducked as Mariah aimed a heavier blow towards his head, before scooting off his chair and sitting next to Lee on the other end of the table. He was rewarded with an elbow in the ribs for his crude teasing, but nothing more.

They were quiet for a few moments before Kevin, never one to sit in silence, started up another round of conversation. "So, who d'you reckon'll be showing up at the tournament, then? I mean, apart from the Bladebreakers. We all know they're going, since Mariah's been pining over Rei since he left," he ended with a smirk.

"T'ch, I have not been pining," she countered through narrowed eyes.

"Yes you have. I'm sure I saw you daydreaming about him yesterday. You were drooling and everythi – ouch!" He exclaimed as Mariah kicked him under the table and glared.

"Well, _I_ think that American team – the All Starz – will be going. You know, 'cause they like to be a part of everything." Mariah said, ignoring the little green haired annoyance.

"I hope so," Lee said, "they'll be good for competition."

"T'chh, they'll be good for a laugh, you mean. That pretty boy captain of theirs is always showing off," Kevin said, rolling his eyes.

"Oooh, I hope he puts on a show this time!" Mariah said with bright golden eyes, leaning forwards on the table. "That sky-diving stunt he pulled at the American regionals was kinda fun to watch. He really made an entrance."

"Ha! Don't let Rei hear you say that, he might get jealous."

"Ugh, shut up, Kevin!"

"Yes, Kevin, give it a break – it's getting old." Kevin mimicked his captain under his breath for a moment before muttering about how he was just sour that his friend had his hands on his baby sister. "What was that, Kevin?"

"Nothin', nothing'," he huffed, turning back to his rice. Then he hurriedly ate the last of his spring rolls when he noticed that Gary was eyeing them up having finished his own meal.

"...D'you think the Demolition Boys will be there, Lee?" Mariah asked pensively after a few moments. She was staring into nothingness and holding her chopsticks up in front of her, paused midway to her mouth.

"I doubt it," Lee replied after a few seconds. He then sat back and folded his arms. "I don't think Mr Dickenson would have invited them anyway, after what they did – _and_ what they would have done if Tyson hadn't beaten their captain in the final round."

"...Yeah." Mariah replied, still zoned out. She remembered the state Rei was in after that pale headed blader was finished with him. It was horrible – that anyone would even think about attacking the blader instead of the blade revolted her. Bryan. That was his name. Even if Mariah didn't see him again until the day she died it would be too soon. Or any of them, for that matter. They'd all done terrible things and intended to do even worse, she was sure. Tyson was a godsend for managing to pull off a win in the final rounds – he'd practically saved the world. Though, she'd never tell him that, because Rei told her the boy had an ego bigger than his appetite, which was pretty huge.

"But, even if they do turn up, we should remember that they weren't the masterminds of the plan and that they may well have all turned a new leaf by now. If they've changed their ways, I think I'd give them a second chance."

"What? Lee, whether they were behind the plans or not, they're all responsible for their actions." Mariah banged her hands on the table to emphasise her angered incredulity. "You know, things like the Holocaust would never have happened if people took responsibility for their actions instead of just blindly doing whatever they're told!"

Lee repressed a sigh as he looked up at his little sister. She was on her feet now, and glaring at him. He knew the Russian bladers were a touchy subject for her, but he couldn't be blamed – she brought them up in the first place! "Mariah," he started hesitantly, "please don't blow things out of proportion."

"Out of proportion?" Lee sighed and ran a hand over his eyes tiredly. She just repeated him. Repeating things meant that her temper had gotten the better of her and there was no reasoning with her when she was worked into a passion. "Lee, are you saying that trying to take over the world is no big deal?"

"No, I didn't –"

"And that Rei getting torn to shreds by that guy isn't that bad?"

"Mariah, will you just –"

"I thought you were supposed to be Rei's friend, Lee!"

"I am his friend!" he said, getting to his own feet and leaning forward on the table.

Mariah leaned back to get out of his face and narrowed her eyes at him. "Yeah? You've got a funny way of showing it." She then twisted around on the spot and stormed out of the room gesturing angrily and muttering things like 'second chance,' and 'out of his mind.' Her long pink hair was trailing behind after her. Soon it had disappeared around the doorframe and she was gone.

Kevin whistled to fill the awkward silence that now filled the room and Lee sat back down in his seat, running a tired hand through his jet black hair.

"So…" Kevin started, clearing his throat, "d'you think one of us should go after her?"

"...No. Just leave her, she'll cool off soon enough."

"She's still holding a pretty huge grudge against those guys in Russia, huh?"

"Yeah," Lee said shortly.

"I don't hold it against her. I mean, they did take like, everyone's bit beasts. And Rei _was_ torn up pretty bad. It wasn't like he just had a few scratches, he passed out and everything! Bryan put him in hospital for days!"

"Yeah, I know and I'm not saying that we should just forget that. Rei's a close friend of mine, too, you know. As close as a brother," the dark haired captain said, folding his arms. "But, you heard the news that got out after that institute was closed down. I wouldn't wish what happened in the Abbey to anyone. We have no idea how that might have affected all the boys that grew up there."

Kevin chewed pensively on one of his fingernails for a moment before replying. "Yeah, I guess. But Mariah's got a point, you know. Everyone knows that stealing and killing and stuff is wrong, no one can excuse that."

"Unless they're brainwashed from childhood. Then they wouldn't know."

Kevin's eyes widened, "Dude, that's even worse! That'd make them even more dangerous, 'cause they really really wouldn't know right from wrong!"

Lee chuckled a little at Kevin's shocked expression, "I'm not saying that the Demolition Boys are like that, I'm just trying to look at things from a different angle. After we made things up with Rei, I realised what a hard position it is to be in when everyone's against you, refusing to overlook your mistakes and give you a second chance." He stared off into the distance for a moment, and then said, "You know when people ask you, like 'What would you like to say to a person who did some unexplainable bad thing' and you spend ages thinking about how you would call them up for what they've done and make them see things your way – I think the more appropriate thing to do would be to say nothing, and listen to them instead. I'm sure they'd have their story to tell."

Kevin was silent for a few moments as he stared up at his captain. "Okay, so who are you and what have you done with Lee? Since when have you been so calm and fair and understanding?"

Lee rolled his eyes before answering with a smirk, "Well, one of us on this team has to be."

"Pfft, too right. Mariah makes mountain bears look like baby kittens when she's in a temper. Although as far as bears go, Gary's pretty tame too," he said with a sly glance in their huge team mate's direction. But he wasn't there. "Hey, where'd Gary go?" He turned towards Lee with a confused look on his face. Who knew Gary could be so big yet so move so quietly? "Did you see him leave?"

Lee was just as perplexed, "No, I didn't even know he was gone."

"Hm," Kevin said, scratching his head, "...maybe he's gone to get more food?"

Lee shrugged and turned back to his stir fry and Kevin greedily eyed Mariah's left over dumplings for a few moments, before reaching over and taking them for himself.

**––––––––––––––––––––––––––––**

Mariah sat in the little rock garden just outside their village. It was a beautiful little place, with cherry blossom trees and small wild shrubs planted in the sand. Instead of benches there were seats made out of chiseled rock, and one lone rope swing was tied up to one of the branches of the sturdiest looking tree. Mariah was sat there and she was playing absentmindedly with a blossom in her hand. She was swinging limply on the swing, ignoring the petals that fell around her as she moved.

Hearing the sound of heavy footsteps approaching her, she said, "Go away, Lee. I'm not talking to you." Receiving no response, she turned around and said more forcefully, "I said, go away – oh, it's you. Sorry, Gary…"

Mariah turned her head meekly back to the floor as Gary sat down on a rock beside her. He was carrying a few prickly pears in a small wicker basket and he set it down on the sand before taking out a small knife. Before he started peel it, he looked up at Mariah and said, "Do you want one?"

Mariah offered him a small smile before saying, "No, thank you Gary."

He shrugged and returned to carefully peeling the pear. Then he smiled and said, "It's funny."

Mariah turned to him and said, "...what is?"

"Who was the first person that thought of eating a prickly pear?"

"I don't know...why?"

"'Cause they don't look good on the outside. They're hard and spiky and really don't look nice." He then looked meaningfully at Mariah before continuing, "but if you ignore all that, you are surprised by a really sweet treat. If you ignore its appearance, you are rewarded with something much better." He then looked down to the pear and continued peeling it, and the two sat in silence for a few moments. Then Mariah spoke.

"Oh... I know what you're trying to say."

Gary looked up at her. "What?"

She rolled her eyes. "You're trying to say that the Demolition Boys are like those pears – really hard and dangerous on the outside, but probably nice once you look deeper – right?" Gary did nothing but smile faintly, knowing that she had gotten his point, and continued peeling his pear. She looked down at him and narrowed her eyes. "Well, I don't think I buy it."

She was sure she saw him smirk. "...I was talking about you, actually. You've got a horrible temper, but you're nice. Sometimes." he said.

Mariah raised her eyebrows, knowing he was just saying that. Everyone thought Gary was slow, but he wasn't. He just tended to keep his thoughts to himself. She pushed him playfully on the shoulder before saying, "Oh, really?" He did nothing but peel his pear, ever quiet.

She smiled contentedly. Stupid Gary with his prickly pears and surprising insight – whenever she or the other members of the team had issues, it was always Gary who tried to make them see sense with his covert little pearls of wisdom. When Rei left and they all raged a vendetta against him at the Asian tournament, it was Gary who managed to soften them all up enough for them to hear him out. And she was grateful for that. She hated fighting with Rei, but her stubbornness wouldn't let her forgive him for leaving.

And now, in spite of herself, she was already beginning to feel a lot less angry at Lee. She still didn't trust the Demolition Boys at all, of course, but as long as they kept well away from her and Rei she probably wouldn't spit poison at them if they did come to the tournament.

"You know…I think I'll have one of those after all," she said quietly. "Kevin's probably eating my dumplings by now, anyway."

Gary smiled and handed her the pear that he'd just that minute finished peeling before carefully picking up another one from the basket and peeling it for himself.

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN:** There you have it. I hope you're not all too disappointed after the long wait! I had trouble writing Gary as an idiot, so I've mad him the surprisingly insightful, but apparently stupid, guy instead. Maybe he does it because it's easier for people not to take him seriously, I dunno. Anyway, there may not be an update next Saturday, I'm afraid. I have work to get through before uni starts back up. However, if I manage to get through it in time to write up another chapter before Sat, then there will be an update. Who knows._


	11. Truce

**_A/N:_** _An update? What is this madness?  
>Anyway yeah, the past couple of weeks have been pretty hectic, so been real busy and haven't been able to update (obviously) until now. So, I hope you guys aren't disappointed with what I have here after the wait! Anyway, things are back under wraps now so you can expect the regular saturday updates to be resumed now. As always, a big thanks go out to the reviewers, <strong>country-grl20<strong> and **AquilaTempestas**. Much love! :3_

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><p><strong>Chapter Ten: Truce<strong>

"I can't believe he hasn't even showed up yet."

"Why not? I can – he does it all the time."

"I don't care, this is getting ridiculous. He was supposed to be here an hour ago!" Emily ceased her pacing, folded her arms and all but stomped her foot on the ground in frustration as she turned to face her captain. They were in the tiny lounge area of the training room, where there were but a few armchairs, a single couch, and a vending machine. She was uncharacteristically pissed off, while Michael was just lounging lazily in one of the armchairs, not really paying her too much attention. "Aren't you even the least bit concerned?"

The cocky blonde just leaned back in the navy-blue suede (and _very_ comfortable) armchair he was sitting in. He threw his arms comfortably behind his head, before crossing his legs and continuing disinterestedly, "Nah."

"Michael!" the petite bespectacled girl bit, "it's June already. We've got less than three weeks now before we fly over to Colorado, and Rick hasn't even attempted to make use of the engine gear. If he doesn't get his act together he's going to compromise all of us in the tournament, and I am not having my reputation ruined because that idiot doesn't even try and make an effort!" She had commenced pacing the room again and her fists were balled up at her sides. Being the level headed scientist of the team, Emily rarely let her anger get the better of her. However, Michael noted that today she was in full-on rage mode.

Michael rolled his eyes lazily. "Em, calm down."

"Calm dow –?"

"Yes, calm down."

Emily huffed out a long suppressed sigh and held her Michael's eyes with a skeptical glare. "And why should I be calm?" It was easy for him to say now, she thought. He was ever the laid back, cocky captain he used to be whenever Rick wasn't around, but the minute the bulky blader came within twenty meters of him he was seething and spitting poison faster than Eddy's Trypio. Calm down. Pfft.

"Because, it's no big deal, Em. If he wants to be a jackass, then he doesn't blade in the tournament at all. I don't say things I don't mean."

"You always say things you don't mean, Michael."

"Tch," Michael rolled his eyes, "Well, I meant that! Geez."

"You know Judy won't just let you bench him for the whole tournament."

"Yes, she will. She's just as competitive as we are, and she's not gonna put him in the line-ups if it'll risk us winning the tournament."

"Emily!" The petite ginger turned her head towards the sound of Judy's voice across the room. She and Eddy were on the other side of the All Starz personal high-tech training room. She was watching over Eddy as he sent his Trypio blade around the specialized agility course. They were trying to increase his speed without compromising too heavily on weight and strength. "Come over here, I need you to run a scan on Eddy's blade, see if there's been any improvement on his technique."

"Sure, Judy," she said, and quickly paced over to the main computer.

"Eddy," she said, almost barking, "keep it tight at the corners. Loose turns will only become your own disadvantage in the bey-stadium."

Michael snickered a little from his seat at the corner. She was in intense coach-mode today, and had been getting increasingly more so as the tournament crept nearer. That meant that they were being put through the ringer more than he'd like. However, it also meant that Rick was sure to get one hell of an ear bashing when he decided to turn up. If there was one thing Michael liked more then seeing other people getting lectured by Judy, it was seeing Rick getting lectured.

Speaking of Rick, Michael turned his head around to the side as he heard the glass training room doors open and spotted the white-headed blader himself amble lazily through them, swinging his bulky arms like some prehistoric caveman. Their eyes caught for a moment and they proceeded to give each other their now-customary greeting glare, before both breaking off at the same moment, sucking their teeth disrespectfully.

"Ah, there you are Rick. Nice of you to join us." Michael smirked. Judy's voice may have sounded sweet, but there was no disguising the ice in it. "Emily, you can wrap things up with Eddy, right?" She then strode over to Rick by the doors, clipboard in hand, not bothering to wait for a response.

Michael sneakily got up off the armchair he was sprawled in and went to sit on the couch instead. It was turned towards the wall and away from the doors, so he figured that if he slouched down really low in it, he could eavesdrop on the lecture that was sure to follow without Judy ever knowing. He then took of his cap as an added precaution – just in case it would give him away by popping up over the backrest. He tuned in attentively as he heard Judy's voice.

"Rick," she started as she neared him. "Why do you insist on getting under everyone's skin like this – and don't even try and me ask 'like what' because you know very well like what." She snapped, presumably in response to Rick trying to open his mouth and utter some lame-ass response. Michael heard her let out a long sigh before continuing, "Look. I know you don't agree with everything we do and everything we stand for in this facility, but I'll tell you now, I don't agree with you and what you're doing either. Now I don't know your reasons for being here, and I'm not going to pry into them either, but out of all the applicants we received for Steve's replacement, you impressed me the most – not only because of your skill but by how much you _wanted_ it too – and that's the only reason you're still here. Now, listen up because I'm only saying this once. The All Starz are a _team_. We all have our different strengths and approaches to blading, but none of us is any more or any less needed than another. But if you don't brush that chip off your shoulder and start making an effort, I promise you, I won't be as generous as Michael. I won't stand for you being benched for this tournament – you'll be kicked off the team entirely, and another replacement will be found. We don't need dead weight in this team. Got it?"

Michael snickered. He sure hoped Rick didn't get it, if Judy was serious about kicking him off the team. The day would never be too soon to see the back of that idiot.

"...Whatever."

"I think the response I'm looking for is, 'Yes, Coach Judy.'"

There was a silence in which Michael greatly anticipated the moment Judy told that stubborn dick to get out. But then, he heard a muttered, "...yes. Coach Judy." Damnit. Oh well, perhaps tomorrow.

"Good. Now, Michael." Oh, shit. Michael stiffened and stayed exactly where he was sitting. Or rather, lying. He didn't want to make any sudden moves and give himself away. "Michael, get up."

The blonde groaned and braced himself, before twisting around and poking his head over the top of the sofa, before asking lamely, "Yes, coach?"

"Did you enjoy the show?" There was an awkward moment in which Michael couldn't decide between trying to deny that he'd heard anything and was actually sleeping, or admitting that he'd heard everything and did find it all very enjoyable. However, he didn't want Judy to get pissed with him, too, so he just settled with a, "um, no, not really."

"Good. Well, now that Rick has arrived, we can finally put a real start to our training today. Emily, Eddy," she said, seeing the pair walking up to her, having rounded things up, "you two come up to the observation room with me. Emily, while were there you can give Eddy the run down on what you think he needs to do to make sure he blades at optimum speed and strength, okay?"

"Yes, Judy."

"Michael and Rick, Dish 2, if you will. You're up first." She then pinched the bridge of her nose as the two bladers protested. "I don't want to hear it guys." She leveled each of them with a steady glare before continuing. "You're not kindergartners. So you don't like each other – get over it. Whatever issues the two of you have, I want them dealt with over the bey-dish, now. And after today, I don't want to hear another word of it. Right? That goes for all of you." She said, glancing over to Emily and Eddy as well.

"Yes, Coach Judy," they all mumbled in unison.

"Great. Now, lets get moving."

She, Emily and Eddy left the room, and Michael watched through the glass doors as they began to mount the stairs leading up to the observation room above. Michael, who had now gotten up off the couch, walked around it and leaned his weight against the back of it, surveying Rick with sour blue-green eyes and folded arms.

"What?" Rick spat, not liking the way that pretty-boy captain was looking at him.

"...What are you doing here?"

"Tch, we're in the training room, ain't we? What'd'ya think I'm doin' here, genius?"

Michael rolled his eyes, already too used to his pathetic 'comebacks' to bother countering. "I mean, what are you doing _here._ In this facility, blading for this tournament, when you're a punk ass street-blader, not an athlete."

"That ain't none of your business."

"I'm your captain, I'm making it my business." Michael said, rearing up and balling his fists at his sides.

"Heh, what're you gonna do, try and hit me? I wouldn't risk it, without your little buddies to back you up."

Michael chewed his lip angrily. He knew in a fight he wouldn't have anything on the bigger blader, who was all muscle and no brain, but that didn't make him any less tempted to lay one on this guy who was so insistent on getting on his nerve. "Just what is your problem, dude? What do you want?"

"Michael. Rick." Judy's voice said over the intercom. "I said I want you over at Dish 2. I will not repeat myself."

Both rolled their eyes and glared at each other for a moment more before making their way over to the dish, Rick swaggering lazily and Michael dragging his feet and cussing. Michael stormed his way up the few stairs leading to the bey-dish, and faced Rick with ire in his eyes. It was returned duly.

"Stop glaring at each other and release your beyblades," Judy said down at them.

Michael, still trying to gain full control of the engine gear the All Stars were learning to use, pulled out a standard launcher and readied his blade. Rick did the same, and they both took their launching stances.

"You look worried, Parker." Rick goaded. "You should be."

"Oh, I am. Worried about the mess poor Emily's gonna have to work with when I'm finished with your blade."

Rick scoffed. "That's a pretty big-boy thing to say for someone who relies so much on their gadgets."

"Tch," Michael rolled his eyes, not bothering to counter his trash talk. He just wanted to hurry up and wipe the floor with him. "Three," he called, initiating the match, "Two. One –"

"Let it rip!"

The two wasted no time in making their blades collide, orange meeting dull brown, in fierce battle. Michael preferred a full-throttle approach to battle and adapted his blade with the first-clutch engine gear, which kicked in almost as soon as he'd launched. Even though this should've given him an edge, however, Michael was frustrated to see that he didn't have that much of an advantage over his bulky opponent. "Trygle, attack!" He called, and his blade pushed forwards, hitting Ricks blade with much more vehemence.

"Y'call that an attack? I barely even felt it. Rock Bison!"

The dull brown blade responded and started pushing against Michael's blade, forcing it backwards and towards the end of the dish. Michael narrowed his eyes in frustration as Rick smirked. Hell was he about to let this street punk get the better of him. With one more shout to his blade, Michael managed to pull his blade away from Rick's heavy onslaught and put a little distance between them before going in for the kill once again.

Tactics and strategies were thrown out the window, and both bladers were just relying on brute force to push the other out of the bey-dish. It wasn't long before the match was over, each blade being thrown out of the dish at different angles. Michael glared down at the side of the dish were Trygle was lying, rocking ever so slightly on the spot, and then glared at Rick, not at all happy with the result.

"Michael, Rick, pick up your beyblades, and start again. That was awful – I didn't see any thought or strategy in that match. This time, get your heads in the game."

"Ugh, Judy!" Michael said, throwing his hands up in the air. "Can't we do this another ti –"

"Now, Michael!"

With much protest, the two picked their blades up off the floor and, grumbling spitefully, began a second match.

**––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––**

It was dark, and there was a chill in the air that was uncommon for summer in New York. Grumbling to himself, Michael shoved his hands into the pockets of his baseball jacket and rounded the corner of the sidewalk. After many repeated matches with Rick this afternoon, some won, some lost – all of them incredibly pointless – Judy eventually got sick of them and decided to call it a day. As soon as he was free, Michael took off on his own and went downtown to catch the end of the Yankee's game. They lost, and Michael proceeded to walk the streets, sulking and grumbling about his luck.

Not paying much attention to where he was going, it was a while before he noticed he'd walked into the not-so-nice part of town. Realizing his mistake, he was about to turn on his heel and make his way back, until he heard the sounds of an argument down the alley of a nearby bar. Soon, the raised voices stopped, and were replaced by the sounds of yells and a fight. Before even taking a moment to think about how stupid he was, Michael found himself running towards the alley, not entirely sure what he was planning on doing but feeling like he really _should_ do something regardless.

"Oi! Back off!" he shouted into the dimly lit alley. There he saw three men. One, bulky guy was holding another huge guy back by the arms while a third, slightly smaller guy was punching him in the gut. At the sound of Michael's intrusion, however, they stopped, and the bigger guy shoved whoever they were beating on roughly towards the wall and sauntered aggressively towards Michael. Oh boy, he was in the shits now. Putting on his ever-cocky demeanor, Michael squared up to the dark haired guy as he came to a stop before him and shoved him backwards by the shoulder.

"Why don't _you_ back off? This ain't none of your business, kid."

"Asshole, I've just made it my business. Leave him alone."

"I don't think I like the way you're talkin' to me."

"I don't think I like your face –"

"Parker? The fuck are you doing here?"

Michael blinked, and stared past the burly thug in front of him. There he saw the second guy, leaning his weight up the wall he was shoved against, his white hair gleaming faintly in the moonlight. Recognition dawned in his blue-green eyes. "Rick? The fuck, dude?"

The two thugs guffawed at the exchange and the smaller of the two said mockingly, "Hey Rick, is this your little friend, come to the rescue?"

"Tchh," Michael said instinctively, "he's no friend of mine."

"Oh, well that's good," said the bigger guy in front of him, giving him another shove on the shoulder. "You can just trot the fuck off then and leave us to it. Save your pretty face from a beating, eh?"

He turned his back dismissively on the blonde, who was still looking at Rick with troubled eyes. He hated the dick, but could he just leave him here, knowing that he was likely going to get the shit kicked out of him the minute he left? Not likely.

"Sorry guys. 'Fraid I can't do that," Michael said in a low voice.

The taller guy snickered. "Wrong choice." He then turned and began to move towards Michael, balling his hands. He braced himself for a fight, but before he could think to move, the dark haired thug was tackled to the ground by Rick, who had, to his utter disbelief, jumped on him and saved Michael from what would have been one hell of a right hook.

"Parker, go the fuck home!"

Michael tore his eyes off Rick in time to see the smaller of the thugs prepare to leap onto Rick. Instinct kicking in, Michael tackled him to the ground and, in seconds, an all out brawl had erupted between the four. Michael was no brawler, but he wasn't a pushover – and his pride wasn't going to let him let these thugs get the better of him. He really wasn't able to dodge or block any of the punches this no-good thug was throwing at him, and by the trickle of warmth down his chin he was sure that last one split his lip, but he sure as hell managed to get some good punches in, and savored the feel of his knuckles meeting this bastard's nose with a crunch.

"Hey! Ladies!" someone shouted into the alley. The scuffle stopped as light spilled into the alley from an adjacent doorway. Standing there were three burly men, one of them presumably the owner of the bar they were fighting next to, and another with absolutely massive arms. "Are you gonna clear off on your own or will I have to call 911?" the man in the middle drawled. Michael found himself being pushed roughly backwards as the two thugs they were fighting made to leave the alley – but not before issuing hard glares towards the men in the doorway and giving Rick a hushed assurance that they'd see him soon. "Hey, you too," the middle guy said gruffly towards Michael and Rick. "Off my property, I don't want you bringing your trouble here again, your hear me?"

Muttering to himself, Rick left the alley without so much as a glance in his captain's direction. Michael, wanting to get himself back to the apartment and cleaned up, picked his cap up off the floor which must've fallen in the scuffle, placed it back on his head and went off after him. However, as soon as he rounded the corner, he found himself face to face with Rick's huge shoulders, walked straight into them, and found himself stumbling backwards from the impact.

"You're a fucking idiot, you know that?" He started, turning around to glare down at the smaller blader.

"What?" Michael said, bristling. He'd just saved the guy he hated from what was sure to be a beating, and this was the thanks he got? What a bastard. "Dude, why are you such a dick? You'd be a heap of mess on the floor right now if I hadn't stepped in!"

"T'chh, don't make me laugh! You don't know nothin' about it, about lookin' after yourself. I could'a handled those guys. I always do."

"Oh, right. 'Cause it really looked that way where I was standing." Michael folded his arms as he mocked. He leaned tiredly against the wall, took off his cap and lazily ran his fingers through his hair. He was tired, aching, and his left temple felt swollen and tender.

Rick looked at Michael skeptically. "Your lip's bleeding," he stated.

Michael rolled his eyes. "Your face is bleeding," he countered. Which, in fairness, it was. There was a small tear in his left eyebrow that was trickling some blood, and a dull red graze just below it from where his head hit the wall. There was a second trickle of blood coming from somewhere in his hairline, too.

There was a silence as Rick scoffed under his breath and turned around to lean on the wall too, a couple of feet away from Michael. Sighing under his breath, he said quietly, "Why'd you do that?"

"Do what?"

"That."

"_What?"_

Rick made an exasperated noise. "Help me!" he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

There was another silence in which Michael gave no answer. He wasn't quite sure what to say. Why did he help Rick? God knows he's wanted to punch the dick's face in ever since he opened his mouth. Then he stumbles across two guys doing the job for him, and he starts a fight with them. He should've been thanking them. Or helping them.

No, when he thought about it now, even going back to his thoughts then, the thought of ganging up on anyone like that was wrong. That was it. It wasn't because he fancied playing the hero. It was just the principle of it. Two guys beating on one was just _wrong, _regardless of whether he knew them or not_._

"Cause." Michael stated, glancing sideways at Rick. "We're a team," he said quietly. Rick then met his eye, and he continued. "A team look out for each other."

Rick snorted and looked away, and there was a moment of awkward silence where both males avoided eye contact. Then the bulky white haired blader pushed himself off the wall. "Whatever," he muttered, and Michael watched as he turned around and made to leave. However, before he'd even taken a whole step, he stopped where he stood. Then, he turned around and gruffly held out a hand.

Michael looked down at it, his sore body and tired brain not understanding. "...what?"

Rick rolled his eyes, before looking down condescendingly at Michael. "Truce?"

Michael smirked. "Is this supposed to be you thanking me for saving your ass?"

"Just shake on it so I can get the hell away from your face – it's pissing me off."

"...Alright, truce." Michael shook on it and grinned – and then immediately regretted doing so when the action tugged on the split in his lip.

"Not a word of this to anyone, hear? Not even your little team."

"A word of what?" Michael asked.

Rick had nothing to worry about. As much as Michael would've liked to brag about saving the bigger blader's ass tonight, he was too tired to deal with the aggro between them anymore. It just wasn't worth the hassle.

* * *

><p><strong><em>AN:_**_ So, how was that? Haha, I hope I didn't make Judy into TOO much of a slave driver - I just figure she's the type to go overboard when tournaments creep up. Also, YAY All Starz. I'm really starting to like them. :3  
>Anyway, that's it for today (tonight at 1:48am LOL), hope you enjoyed it. See you next week!<em>

_**Next chapter: **Saturday (for sure this time xD)  
><em>


	12. Vote

**_A/N:_**_Yes, kept to the Saturday deadline (kinda, I'm sure it's still Saturday somewhere on the globe, LOL.) Anyway, this Chapter fought me, but whatever, here it is. Be sure to say Hi to Robert, 'cause he won't be appearing for a long while now I'm sorry to say. :'(_

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Eleven: Vote<strong>

Oliver set the pan that he was grilling the salmon in to the side and spared a moment to glare over the counter at Enrique, resisting the urge to sigh when he saw that the blonde was completely oblivious to how incredibly annoying he was being at that moment.

The beginning of the tournament was fast approaching, and Oliver, eventually convinced by Enrique to team up once again (more like whined-at into submission, Oliver thought, rolling his eyes at the memory) had decided to gather everyone up, pay a visit to their German friend and stay with him in the few weeks running up to their departure to America. Despite Robert's half-hearted attempts to decline the team's presence in his mansion, Oliver could see he was a little warmed by their willingness to be around him and help in whatever way they could before leaving.

Robert had dismissed most of his servants for the fortnight and Oliver immediately appointed himself head-chef of the group. Needless to say, the majestics had been enjoying michelin-star quality meals since the weekend, and Oliver had been basking in compliments since then. Rachel, who Johnny had somehow managed to convince to take Robert's place, was helping Robert with organizing paperwork and re-scheduling meetings and other mundane tasks. Johnny wasn't making much of an effort to help with anything at all and made a general nuisance of himself, challenging Robert to chess matches and fuming about the place when he lost. Enrique had spent the morning being a nuisance as well, whining about wanting to make cup-cakes and sulking because Oliver wouldn't help him. Of course, Oliver gave in for the sake of his sanity in the end. Still, even after getting what he wanted, the blonde remained the source of Oliver's annoyance this afternoon.

Icing sugar.

Oliver closed his amethyst eyes and winced slightly as he heard the sound again. The sound of someone sucking in a load of air, followed by the sound of lip-smacking, like the kind of sound a toddler or a young child makes when enjoying a treat. He opened his eyes again and looked at his Italian friend irritatedly. Enrique was rather pointlessly sifting the icing sugar into a large bowl. Anyone who has ever used icing sugar knows that, because it's so fine, it usually ends up floating around the air in a little puff of sweetness rather than going into the bowl. Because of this, Enrique was now engaged in sucking in the icing sugar-air and making those annoying lip-smacking sounds he knew Oliver couldn't stand.

"Enrique!" Oliver snapped, losing a little patience.

The blonde just stopped in the middle of breathing in another breath of sugar-air. Closing his gaping mouth, he straightened up and fixed Oliver with an innocent expression of mock-hurt. "What?"

"Would you please stop doing that?"

"Doing what?" Enrique replied with a smirk, which then disappeared with a little gulp as the petite frenchman narrowed a glare at him.

Oliver returned to his salmon and resumed grilling it, before turning away and rummaging in the spice cupboard, standing on his tip-toes to reach the higher shelf. He was about to ask Enrique exactly what kind of icing he intended to make when he froze as the sound of Enrique sucking up the air assaulted his ears again.

Oliver ground his teeth in annoyance, with the vague feeling that anything he might say to the blonde would just go in one ear and out the other. Turning on the spot, wound his arm back and let go of the wooden pepper-grinder he had just plucked off the shelf. It hit Enrique's head with a slightly satisfying 'thud'. Oliver's satisfaction, however, quickly evaporated as Enrique fell limply to the floor.

"Oh, Enrique, I'm sorry!" Oliver cried, rushing to the other side of the counter. "I didn't mean to hit you on the head, are you okay?"

Oliver found Enrique sprawled out on the floor dramatically, one hand clutching his forehead. "Oli, how could you?" he cried. "You've killed me!"

Oliver's worry for the italian evaporated as quickly as it came. He rolled his eyes. The recent couple of days Enrique had spent in Robert's mansion away from any eligible girls must really have bored him. "Oh, stop being so melodramatic," he said, picking up the pepper-grinder and nudging him with his toe. "Get up off the floor, Enri."

"I can't. Everything's gone black!"

Oliver returned to the pan, muttering slightly under his breath. "Enri, why don't you go upstairs and bother Johnny or something?"

Enrique propped himself up onto his elbows, and replied, "Can't." Then he sniggered. "I think he's practicing chess on the laptop again - you know what he gets like. And I don't really enjoy being hit by Johnny to be honest." Then he lifted up his hand and rubbed his head, "Man, Oli. That really hurt."

Oliver looked at him from over the stove and saw the little pink welt that was blooming over his left eyebrow. "Sorry, Enri," he replied with a meek, apologetic smile.

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

"Ah. No, I wouldn't have made that move, Johnny."

"What? Why not, I just took his queen. I'm winning."

"No, you see, you've just compromised your defense. I expect his next move will be to – yes, you see? He's just taken your bishop."

"So? I've got his queen. He doesn't have a chance."

Robert pinched the bridge of his nose. So narrow minded. This is he would never learn. "No, Jonathon, you've left a gaping hole in your defense around your king." Johnny looked at the screen in utter confusion. His king was surrounded by both rooks, a knight, and his remaining bishop. Not to mention that the opposition was without a queen. "I expect he'll have in you checkmate in three or four turns." Then he turned around and returned to his desk.

There were a few minutes of silence before Johnny threw his hands up in the air and cried out in frustration. "What? Wait, that _can't_ be right! I was winning!"

Robert stifled a sigh and shook his head from his seat at his desk. "I tried to tell, Jonathon."

Johnny closed the laptop in frustration and threw himself down in one of the stiff leather arm chairs in Robert's study. Covering his face with his hands, he mumbled, "How do you do it, Robert?"

Robert lifted his eyes disinterestedly over the paperwork on his desk and said, "Do what?"

"Win all the time!" Johnny said, throwing his arms in the air again.

"I _think_, Jonathon. That is all."

He then returned to his paperwork, leaving Johnny to sulk and fume in a demoralized heap in the corner of the room. The redhead picked at his nails for a few minutes, throwing dark glares to the laptop every now and then, before turning his eyes over to Rachel. She was currently sat in one of the three desks in the room, and was hand-writing invitations for some boring formal dinner party Robert was hosting in a months time.

"Rachel," he called.

"What, Johnny?" she replied, not taking her eyes off what she was doing.

"You'll have a game with me, right?"

She put the pen down and looked over to him. "Of chess?" Robert nodded, and Rachel responded by simply picking the pen back up and returning to her task. "...No, I don't think so."

"What? Why not?" Johnny demanded.

"Because, Johnny, if losing to the computer has you in this kind of mood, I'd dread to think what losing to a girl would do for your temper, as well."

Johnny laughed. "Whatever. You're just bluffing 'cause you know I'd win."

She rolled her eyes at him. "You know, Johnny, if you're bored you could help me with these invitations. Never too late to try your hand at being helpful."

"Pfft," Johnny said, leaning back more firmly into the uncomfortably stiff armchair, "no."

"Well, the offer still stands if you change your mind."

"Not much chance of that happening."

"I know."

"But thanks for the offer."

"Oh, always a pleasure."

The room was silent for a few minutes, and Johnny used that time to shift around in the armchair and try to get comfortable. He didn't know why, but Robert had an awful taste in furniture – probably because he never actually used it. Sure, everything _looked_ elegant and rich, but Johnny thought it was mostly just stiff and uncomfortable – a lot like Robert himself, he thought with a snicker.

"Robert…" Rachel voiced, breaking the silence of the room.

"Yes?"

"How common a surname is _Fuchs_?"

Johnny sat up with a vaguely interested smirk on his face. "What?"

"Come, look, this is the third one I've written now. _Wayne Kerr Fuchs._ There was a _Bumgartner_ earlier on, as well," she said with sly amusement.

Johnny leaned over the desk and took a look at the invite list just as Enrique entered the room.

"Hey, what are you two sniggering at?" said the blonde jovially, skipping over to the desk to hopefully join in the joke.

"Oh, just Robert's guest list." Rachel said. "He's invited three Fuchs."

"Three _what?"_ Enrique said enthusiastically.

"There is really nothing unusual or amusing about that surname – it is perfectly ordinary," Robert sighed from across the room.

"Sorry Robert, but there really aren't any _perfectly ordinary_ German surnames." Enrique snickered, trying to budge Johnny out of the way so he could peek over Rachel's shoulder at the guest list.

Johnny wasn't having any of that, and instead just budged right back. Then he stopped, noticing the large red bump on the Italians forehead. "Haha, what happened to your face, Enrique?"

The blonde took a step back to steady himself before gingerly poking at the lump above his eyebrow. "Oliver," he stated simply.

"Really?" Johnny asked with a smirk. "Why, what did you do this time?"

"Absolutely nothing. Anyway, that doesn't matter. He asked me to tell you that dinner's ready. I think Gustav's laid the table already."

"What are we having?" Johnny grunted.

"Er, Salmon." Enrique answered vaguely. "He called it something that sounded really cool but I forget what it was…anyway, I'm starving," he said, snatching the pen out of Rachel's hand, and ignoring Johnny's mutters about wanting some 'real meat,' "so hurry up. You too Robert," he called over. Robert was currently engaged in rummaging through a desk in his draws and his reply was not heard.

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

"I'm not agreeing to that."

"Why not? Afraid you'll be beaten?"

"No!"

"I wouldn't blame you if you were, Johnny, it's a perfectly rational fear to have."

"Ha! I'm not afraid–"

"– I mean, it's clear the ladies just can't keep away from me. It's only natural you should feel at a disadvantage –"

"– I don't feel disadvantaged! I'm just not gonna to waste my time playing stupid games with you when I've got better things to do."

"Oh yeah, like what? Dreaming of beating Robert at chess?"

"No! Like training for the tournament!"

Robert closed his eyes and sighed at the familiar sound of Robert and Enrique bickering. It was late and the Majestics were gathered in the lounge, sitting around the fireplace and talking. Enrique had been dribbling some nonsense or other about various girls he had been dating before coming over to Germany, to which Johnny let out a stereotypically provoking comment. Two minutes later and Enrique had all but declared a duel in which they would decide who was the better 'man' by the amount of girls they could seduce within the week. Robert shook his head in disapproval at the uncouth nature of the challenge.

He opened his eyes and looked around the circle. The room was dark, lit only by the few lamps on the wall and the flickering waves of light from the fireplace. In the center of the circle was a dark, ornately carved coffee table, on which was resting several mugs and a tray of cup cakes, which Enrique claimed to be his own, but which everyone knew Oliver had probably made.

The Italian was sitting in one of the armchairs nearest the fire, lazily resting his weight on one of the arms as he taunted Johnny. The flickering light from the fire played colours in his white-blonde hair, painting in golden tones that weren't visible in normal light. Johnny was, as usual, sprawled out on the long couch, with his feet resting on the arm rest. He was making angry hand gestures in the air as he argued pointlessly with Enrique, and his was the only mug that rested on the floor by the couch rather than on the table like everyone else's.

Oliver was sat cross legged in one of the armchairs, and he was engaged in conversation with Rachel, who had apparently taken preference for the floor over any of the free furniture in the room. She sat with her back resting against the table, also cross legged, with her mug in her hands. She was listening attentively as Oliver discussed his plans for opening another restaurant somewhere in the south of France – Marseille, perhaps, or Toulouse. His eyes had a slightly far away look in them, and his hands were in the air as he enthusiastically discussed design plans and colour schemes with her.

Robert himself was sitting in another armchair, also nearest the fire, and opposite to Enrique. He was neither ignoring their conversations nor engaging with them, simply sitting back, observing, and quietly enjoying their company. He had his right leg crossed over his left, and his arms were crossed also. He was leaning loosely back in his seat – a sign that he was quite comfortable – and his empty mug was resting on a coaster on the table.

"I can't believe you're even worrying about training," Enrique said, "are you doubting your skill, or something?"

"No, but, Enrique, you're an idiot if you think you can just breeze through the tournament without lifting a finger."

"That's kinda funny, you know, coming from the guy who hasn't lifted a finger all weekend."

"I've lifted! –"

"– Speaking of the tournament," Robert interrupted, trying to put an end to the childish argument before Johnny resorted to hitting Enrique, "there's something we haven't quite talked about."

"You changing your mind and coming with us?" Enrique enquired hopefully.

"No, I mean which of you is going to take up the gauntlet and lead the team as Captain."

There were a few moments of silence in which only the crackling of the fire could be heard. And then:

"Well, that's obvious," Johnny said. "I'll be leading the team, of course."

"What?" Enrique shouted, his voice cracking amusingly, "Says who?"

"Says me."

"Oh yeah, and why do you get the final say?"

"Because I'm stronger than you," Johnny retorted, glaring at him a little threateningly. Rachel snorted condescendingly at him from the floor, but said nothing.

"Well," Oliver piped in, "Personally, I think I ought to lead. I am the most mature, clearly. Probably the most organized too."

"And what am I, then?" whined Enrique, with a slightly heart-breaking expression on his face.

"You whine too much, and you're too easily distracted." Johnny said, bluntly. "I have focus."

"Johnny, you have too much of a temper, hardly ever plan your battles," Oliver said. "I always maintain a clear head. I should be captain."

"No me!" Enrique whined childishly. "I'm better looking. And my bit-beast has two heads. That means I'm twice the blader. I should be captain!" He ended firmly, as if there was no arguing with his reasoning. Johnny and Rachel simply laughed, while Oliver snickered behind his hand and Robert massaged his temple.

"I think you should just forget about your work, Robert, and remain captain. Look at how useless they are without you," Rachel said, gesturing over to the other three, "Clearly, nothing will ever get done."

"Clearly. But, I cannot be that irresponsible, I'm needed here."

She looked at him with a hint of sadness in her eyes. "Then just call a vote on it, unless you have someone in mind," she shrugged, before bringing the mug to her lips and taking a sip.

"A vote!" Enrique cried. "But that won't get us anyway, we'll all just vote for ourselves!"

Robert pinched the bridge of his nose tiredly. Enrique just had one of those voices that you can only take so much of in one day. Robert was just about reaching his limit for today. "Okay. I have decided," he said. "We shall have a vote. Oliver," he said, motioning to the petite blader, "who do you nominate?"

"Myself, of course," he replied with his nose in the air.

"Jonathon?"

"I vote for me." He said lazily.

"Enrique?"

"Obviously, I'm voting for myself."

Robert sighed. "Rachel?"

She placed her mug on the floor behind and tucked a few strands of hair behind her ear. she looked each of the likely candidates in the eye for a few seconds before replying. "I vote Johnny," she said.

"What? Why?"

"Yes!"

"Robert, surely not!"

Robert sighed as the cumulative noise of everyone in the room assaulted his ears. He held up his hand to try and stop their shouts, and said, "Well, it's settled. Jonathon, you should contact Mr Dickenson first thing tomorrow morning and notify him of the changes to the team. You should also make preparations to see that everybody is in good form for the tournament."

Johnny threw himself off the couch and started pacing the room, all too eager to throw his weight around. "Yes, you hear that Enrique? Starting tomorrow, we'll be training." He said, with a mean grin in the blonde's direction. "And the first decision I'm making as team captain is that Rachel needs a new blade," he smirked, knowing it was a touchy subject with the girl.

"What?" she demanded, standing up to face him, "I'm only here because we agreed that you'd let me do this my way, Johnny. Besides, there's nothing wrong with it!"

"Rachel, your attack ring's outdated, your defense ring's tiny – I can't believe you haven't done anything to it since you quit."

"My blade has nothing to do with you," she said, poking him in the chest. "It works just fine and –"

"Second decision as team captain," he said, nonchalantly swatting her hand away, "no arguing with the captain's decisions."

"You know what, I change my mind. I vote Oliver as captain, instead" she said petulantly, turning to Robert in protest.

"What?" Enrique cried with an accusatory glare at Rachel, "Why not me! What's wrong with _me_?"

Robert, tired of the noise, stood and drew himself up to his full authority. Quiet came over the room. "It was my original intention for Johnny to take leadership of the team, anyway, so this decision is final. He is the most competitive, most stubborn, and most likely to ensure that you all train and blade at your highest potential." He said, speaking to everyone. Then he fixed his deep crimson eyes with Johnny's fiery lavender ones. "Although, that is not to say that you can throw your weight around like a barbarian. A true leader will always take into consideration the opinions and welfare of his team as a whole, and I expect you not to fail that, Jonathon."

Johnny stood a little taller and narrowed his eyes seriously, "I won't."

"Good," Robert said a little stiffly. "Now then, the hour is late, and I should like to retire for the night. I think I will leave you to discuss your plans for the tournament."

With that, Robert left the room, and began to mount the stairs.

"Robert, wait!"

He paused halfway up the stairs and turned to face Johnny, who was hurrying after him in the hallway.

"Are you sure about this?" the redhead asked, with a furrowed brow.

"Why? Are you unhappy?"

"No, it's just, are you sure? I mean," Johnny said, shifting a little awkwardly from foot to foot, not used to talking about much of anything without a temper involved, "about not wanting to join us? Honestly, Rachel doesn't even really want to blade, anyway, and..."

Robert watched Johnny amble awkwardly around his words and sighed, reading behind them. Although they clashed, he was closest to Johnny on the team – they had an understanding of each other that he didn't quite have for Oliver or Enrique, or Rachel, who he'd only met once or twice before when his father's business brought them to England.

It wasn't so much that Johnny was insecure, and just hid that insecurity behind a mask of confidence. He _was_ confident – he was arrogant and hot headed, loved a challenge and the feeling of victory he got whenever he proved the better party at something. His moments if insecurity were few and far between, but when they came, they hit him all the harder for he was so used to confidence.

Johnny felt like Robert was leaving them, and heaping the responsibilities of leadership onto his shoulders. It was an uncomfortable feeling to have, most of all because he was unused to feeling uncomfortable.

And Robert could sympathize with that. Because he felt the same when his father died. Granted, it was an entirely different situation on an entirely different scale, but the basic feeling was the same. In the space of a few hours, Robert went from being the son of a billionaire entrepreneur to the sole manager of a business he had little idea of how to run, with all the responsibilities that came with it. He felt grief, anger and fear all at once, and he doubted himself. He didn't know if he was capable of handling all that he had to do, and so he reacted by immersing himself into it, by doing nothing other than the work, to prove that he was capable.

When he received the letter from Mr Dickenson about the proposed tournament, he placed it to the side without a second thought. He couldn't be playing games when there was so much to do. Even now, he felt separated from them, as though there were a gulf between he and his team that only he could see.

The event had changed him and his outlook – for the better or for the worse, he couldn't tell.

"Jonathon, do you doubt yourself?" Robert asked quietly, after a few moments.

"Doubt myself?" Johnny asked.

"Yes. Do you?"

"No." Johnny replied defensively.

"Good. You have always followed, whether it be my orders as captain or your own whims. But you are more than capable of leading, and I think it's about time you started." Slowly he reached into his pocket, pulled out his beyblade, and detached the attack ring. Then he handed it to Robert. "If Rachel really is serious about not modifying her blade, then at least convince her to use this – three years is a horribly long time not to update a beyblade. And I suppose I shall be with the team in some way if she accepts."

Johnny smirked at him as he took the attack ring from his ex-captain. "Is this you being sentimental?"

"Don't be foolish, Jonathon, there is no sentiment. You know I have plenty of spare parts," he said curtly. But the trace of a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. Plenty of spare parts, but of course he only attached the best. Robert would never use anything but the best. "Well, good night then." He said, turning away from Johnny and resuming his climb up the stairs.

"Hm. Yeah, see ya." Johnny waved nonchalantly, and he turned back toward the lounge, plans already in mind for their training schedule before their departure for America.

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><p><strong><em>AN:_**_So, there we have it. Will Johnny make a good captain? Probably not, but he might grow up a little in the process. Were Enrique's cupcakes nice? Probably yes, because Oliver did most of the work. Next chapter I'm on a Bryan and Tala hype, so stay tuned. :3_

_**Next chapter:** Saturday_


	13. Redefine

_**A/N:** Hello again! I've been really good lately and had this chapter written out ages ago. :3 It's the longest by far, and I've been waiting all week to get it out! 8D Featuring our beloved Demolition Boys, it's pretty much half banter, half deep-introspection from Tala. As always, thanks go out to the reviewers of the last chapter: **country-grl20** and **Ninja Lady Jae**. Your support is appreciated! :D**  
><strong>_

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><p><strong>Chapter Twelve: Redefine<strong>

Tala smirked as he watched the ice and snow that whipped around about him. Squinting his eyes a little against the wind, he could just about see a purple beyblade being buffeted left and right by what seemed to be an invisible force. Of course, Tala knew there was no such force. If he looked close enough, he could almost make out the shape of his own silver-white beyblade bolting past as it struck his opponent from side to side. He didn't need to look close though, it was enough for him to feel the motions of his blade as it sliced through the ice and snow. He could quite easily just close his eyes, battle blind, and still hold the advantage.

"Had enough, Bry?" he called, smirking. Every now and then, Tala's eyes could just make out the purple-grey of Bryan's hair through the breaks in the thick white blizzard he was creating.

"Don't flatter yourself, Tala," he heard Bryan call back, in what sounded like an attempted arrogant grow through teeth gritted with cold. "I hear they have worse snowstorms than this in Peru!"

Tala laughed at Bryan's attempt at off-handedness, but he was sure the sound couldn't reach his burly team mate through the howling winds. Truth was, here on this frozen lake that they were practicing on, it was freezing – even _he_ was cold, something Tala didn't feel all too often thanks to his bit beast, Wolborg. Russia was experiencing uncommonly low temperatures this summer – it was hardly higher than five degrees centigrade today. The lakes and rivers remained frozen, unable to gather enough temperature during the cold days to thaw out. The ground was still smothered in a blanket of white from last week's snowfall. Tala was in his element.

"Really, Bryan?" he grinned, knowing his pale haired friend only mocked to hide the fact that right now he was losing this battle. "Well, if you wanted to see a little more, all you had to do was ask. Wolborg," he shouted, stretching his hand out towards the battle, "Ice Blizzard!"

The winds and the snow that whipped around the battle and the bladers began to pick up speed, and the snow crystals hardened to form small blades of ice. Then, they began to draw back from the bladers and concentrate around the battle, morphing into a thick, icy tornado around the beyblades as they struck each other.

With the icy winds whirling only around a certain point, Tala could now see his team mate clearly, and he was _not_ happy. Bryan's blading style was strictly offensive. His blade was built to enhance speed and power above all else, and so Tala compensated for this by playing with a full-throttle offense himself, forcing Bryan into a corner with no room to maneuver or counter-attack. A bird can't fly with its wings clipped, no matter how mighty it is.

"You look a little worried, Bryan." Tala mocked, his lips turning up at the corners smugly. "Understandable, of course, since you're losing this battle." It might only be a practice match, but that didn't mean anything. As a rule, the Demolition Boys pulled no punches, whether they were facing friend or foe, and today he was fighting Bryan just as hard as he'd fight Kai or Tyson or anyone else for that matter.

"Shut up, Tala," Bryan scowled, although Tala thought he saw the hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. "I'm just thinking on what to do next."

"Oh? And does anything good come to mind?" Tala replied, slyly. He was interested to see what sort of move Bryan would try and pull, but of course, it would be in vain. Wolborg had him trapped right where he wanted him.

Bryan's smirk widened into a grin, flashing his teeth. "Only this. Falborg," he roared over the match, "counter it!"

Bryan's blade emitted a strong, glowing light, and suddenly the area surrounding the bladers became a whole lot windier. Tala tried to steady his stance as the rising winds almost caused him to loose his footing on the ice. His fiery red hair lashed about his face, obscuring his view. Bryan was quickly whipping up a tornado around the battle from the outside, and in a similar fashion began to concentrate the winds and draw them inwards towards the blades. Before long, Bryan's razor blade tornado had merged with Tala's icy one in the centre, and the ice blizzard was beginning to slow and lose its power.

Then Tala realized what Bryan was doing.

"A counter-spin attack," he stated, half to himself. "Risky move, Bryan, on this ice, but clever," he called across the battle. The spiraling force of both tornadoes pushing down on the ice might have been enough to break it, sending them both into the arctic depths. It was a very risky move. He grinned as he thought about it – his battles with Bryan were never anything less than interesting.

"Obviously," Bryan replied, with a competitive light in his eyes now that he was back in the game. "You keep forgetting I'm not all brawn, Tala."

"No, these days you're all mouth too, apparently."

"Oh, wait. Are we talking about you now?" Bryan snarked.

Tala laughed. By now his blizzard had abated, the only hint of it ever having existed being the circular traces of snow and ice that spiraled outwards from the centre of the battle. The sharp winds coming from Bryan's blade were also dying down and now both the blades and the bladers on the centre of the ice lake could be seen quite clearly. Their eyes met for a split second, and then narrowed in competition. Tala called Wolborg back to his side, and Bryan followed suit.

"So," Bryan called with a small grin, "an all-out attack to see who's stronger?"

"Why not?" Tala replied, also grinning. "Wolborg, Novae Rogue!"

"Falborg, Blitz Bomb!"

Tala's silver-white blade pushed forwards in a surge of speed and ice, while Bryan's purple blade launched itself upwards with razor blade winds, before making a dive for Tala's. Tala watched as the two blades collided on the ice, pushing and grinding, trying to wear the opponent down. Then Tala froze as the ground beneath his feet shook, and a deep, shuddering noise echoed around him. His sharp turquoise eyes snapped up to meet Bryan's pale grey ones.

The ice had cracked.

Bryan cussed and immediately called Falborg away from the battle, holding up his hand to catch his blade as it returned. Tala followed suit and the two quickly, but very carefully, proceeded to make their way off the lake and back to solid ground. He might not feel the cold so much as others, but, frankly, he had enough knowledge of ice-cold water not to want to experience it a second time.

After clearing the lake, Tala and Bryan made their way through the wall of trees, back through the school grounds which bordered it and made their way onto the street. Finding a bench on the sidewalk, Tala brushed the snow off his coat and sat down. He then watched with some amusement as Bryan carried on walking a few paces, turned to the side to say something, and quickly turned further around with a perplexed expression on his face when he noticed that Tala was no longer by his side. Rolling his eyes when he saw him sat on the bench, Bryan hitched the collar of his black rebel jacket a little further up, and threw himself down on the bench beside Tala.

"Just for the record, that match was mine." Tala said nonchalantly, shoving his hands inside his coat pockets glancing sideways at Bryan.

"Yeah?" He smirked irritatedly. "And how do you decide that?"

"Easy," the redhead shrugged. "You pulled out first. Match goes to me."

Bryan retaliated by giving him a rough punch on the shoulder, which Tala couldn't be bothered to return since his hands were so comfortably warm inside his pockets. "Whatever. Next time I'll just keep going and let you fall into the lake. Again," Bryan added, as an afterthought.

Tala repressed a slight shiver at the memory. It was an accident during training one day while back in the Abbey – a cold, and very painful accident. He was about eleven, and it took him two weeks to recover enough from the pneumonia before resuming his training. Bryan was out of commission for an even longer time than that after receiving his harshest beating to date for endangering the life of Boris' star pupil. If he remembered correctly, Bryan could hardly stand for any significant length of time for the broken ribs.

Tala heard the click of a lighter, and looked to the side to see Bryan holding a cigarette between his lips, trying to light it with one hand and shield it from the wind with the other. After many failed attempts to light the cigarette in these arctic conditions, he finally succeeded, and gratefully took a long drag. Tala smirked. "What happened to quitting, then?" he asked, looking across the street and smirking as he watched a couple of elementary school children sneakily throwing snowballs at passers-by and then ducking behind the school wall, sniggering.

When he came to visit over the Christmas period, Bryan arrogantly declared that smoking was getting too expensive, that he wasn't really addicted anyway, and fully intended to give it up. Yet Bryan with a cigarette in hand was such a familiar sight that, over the two months since he came to Moscow, Tala had completely forgotten his earlier intentions to break the habit until now.

Bryan's lips twitched at the corners. "Changed my mind," he said, nonchalantly puffing out a breath of smoke. "Earned a raise at work and didn't see the need to anymore."

Tala smirked and shook his head, his bangs swaying a little with the motion. If anyone on their team had an addictive personality, it was Bryan. He never simply liked things, or enjoyed them – he wanted and needed them to the point of addiction, sometimes even obsession, Tala hedged in his mind. These days, you could almost set the clock by when Bryan took a smoke. He guessed it was probably around five in the afternoon. With a small smirk, he lifted his cell phone out of his pocket and, sure enough, the digital display confirmed that it was 5:08pm.

He remembered when he first met the shy, troubled, pale haired boy in the Abbey. Beneath the rough attitude the younger Bryan shrugged around him, Tala recalled a timid individual who simply learned to protect himself through intimidation – a trait which he still carried through to today. As a rule, he never talked about himself and never let anyone get close to him. He wanted strength and only strength – it was his one interest and his single goal when he came to the Abbey, and Boris knew all to well how to exploit that to his own advantage.

More recently, though, Bryan had laid his issues aside somewhat and now music and smoking were his vices. Girls too, probably, Tala thought slyly. He still maintained a nasty attitude toward authority figures, rarely trusted anyone, was stubborn to a fault and usually completely unable to control his angry outbursts. Most people tended to stay away from him, and with good reason, too. However, he was redeemed by the fact that once you'd earned his trust and he considered you worthy enough to call a friend, he was unfalteringly loyal. And then, you could trust him with anything. You could trust Bryan with your life.

Tala himself was raised in the Abbey from a very young age and had absolutely no memory of his life before then. It wasn't until Boris was exposed and the Abbey fell that he realized he might even have _had_ a life outside the Abbey. He saw orphans walk through those heavy wooden doors and into servitude all the time, but he always saw himself, inherently, as a part of those cold stone walls. That isn't to say that he liked life there – he loathed it. He loathed Boris and his insatiable lust for power and greed for recognition, he loathed his slimy words and bloodstained hands. He would have left, would have resisted and rebelled and ran away but the Abbey was all he knew. It was the only life he knew existed for him.

So he stayed, and did everything that was expected of him to a degree of excellence that far surpassed his years. He performed his blading drills to perfection and oversaw the younger recruits as they performed theirs. He was ruthless and unforgiving to his opponents. Victory was life, defeat to his enemies. He learned how to dismantle and shoot a gun, how to hit a target between the eyes at twenty meters. He knew a variety of ways to kill a person without flinching, without thinking, without even leaving a trace. He knew how to disarm the enemy, how to incapacitate them, how to hide all evidence that he had ever been anywhere at all. He learned several close-combat fighting techniques, became fluent in English, German, Italian, Arabic, Syrian and Korean. Five minutes in a room with someone was plenty of time for him to assess enough information about them, from their appearance, body language, and manner of speech, to build up a mental profile on them. He could write computer programmes and hack into some of the most sophisticated government databases known to man. But most of all – he knew how to take his orders, without question and without hesitation. He was the perfect soldier.

Yet all the while, a gnawing curiosity for the outside world burned within him.

Then came the fateful day at the tournament when he stood across the arena from Tyson Kinomiya, and lost. He remembered very few of the details – the computer chip Boris placed inside his brain just days before had overloaded his senses and made it difficult for him to separate fiction from reality, wrong from right, Boris' will from his own. The migraine he'd suffered was excruciating. And Tyson, the rookie blader from Japan, had somehow managed, against all the odds, to pull off a win and save the world.

The Abbey fell, and Tala was thrown into a world that he didn't understand. It was so ordinary, so normal, and he was outside of his comfort zone. For Bryan, the Abbey was an escape from his life at home so he didn't have many of the of the problems that the other Abbey boys encountered with adapting to their new lives. But for Tala, the Abbey was his entire world. He knew nothing else. So when he was greeted by a woman who looked so much like him, and a man whose eyes were exactly the same penetrating shade of blue as his, and they threw their arms around him and offered him a home and a future and more love than he could even comprehend, he recoiled. He didn't know how to react. He didn't know what they wanted from him. To look after him? He could look after himself, thank you very much, and was insulted that anyone would dare think otherwise.

He gave them both a terribly hard time. He was cold, unfeeling and inconsiderate. He pushed them away and turned a blind eye to his mother's tears because he just didn't know what else to do. He wasn't trained for any of this. He was trained to be a soldier. He had no idea how to be a son.

Eventually, the shock of this new life began to fade, and he felt himself tiring of the arguments and the guilty knot he felt at the pit of his stomach whenever he heard his mother cry. He started to open up to his parents and, one step at a time, gradually allowed them to treat him like the son they loved. The son they'd thought lost forever. He remembered when, one day, curiosity got the better of him, and before he'd know what he was saying he'd spontaneously just asked his mother if he could go grocery shopping with her. She pushed the cart as he trailed behind her with his hands in his pockets, looking up at the shelves packed full with things he'd never seen before. He saw the looks on people's faces as they saw his fiery red hair that matched his mother's, and read their expressions that said, 'well, there's another one who's been dragged off the sofa against his will to help carry the heavy shopping for a change.' She took him out for coffee afterwards, and they talked and smiled and people-watched, making small jokes about some of the people who walked by. It was one of the most surreal experiences of his life.

Tala's startlingly sharp blue eyes vacantly stared off into the distance with thoughts of how strange their lives were now compared to then. Everything was so dramatically ordinary, so far removed from the life he grew up with – sometimes he even had the vague feeling that he was waking up with someone else's life, because this new one was too different and too...nice, to be his.

The bench shuddered slightly as Bryan tried to restrain a shiver against the cold, pulling Tala out of his mind and into the street again. "Fuck this weather," Bryan spat. "Tala, what are we even doing here?"

"In Moscow?" Tala asked, knowing that that wasn't his team mate's question. He just enjoyed to annoy his short tempered friend.

"No. On this fucking bench."

"Thinking," Tala stated.

"Hn. Right," Bryan grunted, giving his cigarette a lazy flick to remove the build up of ash before bringing it to his lips again, "you always did think too much."

"And you never did think at all," Tala countered, slyly.

Bryan smirked and shook his head, looking into the distance. "I think," he stated quietly, a little more to himself than to Tala.

The two sat in silence for a moment, and Tala continued to watch the kids playing their pranks across the street, laughing quietly to himself when they were caught and scolded by one of the teachers leaving the building. "It's funny, wouldn't you say, Bry?"

"What is?"

"This," Tala said, lazily gesturing around with one hand. "Everything." Then he sighed when Bryan shot him a look that clearly said he didn't catch his meaning. "It's all so, normal!"

Bryan just raised an eyebrow. "Explain."

Tala sighed again. "Two years ago, we were still in the Abbey, Bryan. We weren't anything but tools, being trained to fight in a war we didn't even fully understand. It wasn't life, it was a battle ground – a daily fight to just keep treading water and keep your head above the waves. We were soldiers and never did anything outside of our orders unless we had something to gain from it. And now look at us!" he said loudly, gesturing outwards with his hands, "We're sitting on a park bench in the freezing cold, doing absolutely nothing but wasting time with idle talk, just because we can. We're in high school, meeting people and skipping classes like everyone else our age. I've got a mom who makes my bed and folds all my clothes, and always has breakfast ready in the morning. You're smoking like a chimney, swearing like a sailor and playing the guitar like a pro. I mean, you've already played some small-time gigs! Spencer's at university, and Ian spends his spare time pulling pranks on the school and annihilating other kids on the Xbox. And in three days time, we're all flying out to take part in a tournament for absolutely no reason other than because we feel like it. Bryan, we're fucking normal." Tala finished, his hands in the air to emphasise the point.

"Nice evaluation, Tal. Very deep," Bryan snarked at his captain's apparently random philosophical outburst, and Tala just rolled his eyes dismissively.

"You don't find it weird? Look, we're so normal we could even sit here and talk about girls," he stated, as if that were the most weirdly normal thing out of everything. After all, there were no girls in the Abbey, and for the past nearly two years they had been mingling with the fairer sex on a regular basis in all throes of the hormonal teenage years. Tala had to admit, from the dank concrete walls and stoney faces of the Abbey, it was change in scenery he found all too welcoming. "Let's talk about girls, Bryan," he said decidedly, after a few moments.

Bryan did nothing but play with the cigarette between his fingers while smiling wryly and shaking his head in amusement. "Alright," he said eventually. "They're too much fucking effort," he stated bluntly, "unless they're drunk. Then they're even more, or less, depending on how lucky you are that night."

Tala snickered, feeling that there was a very amusing Bryan-rant on its way. "Explain," he said simply with a wave of the hand, echoing the pale haired teens earlier request.

Sharp grey eyes rolled as Bryan picked up where he left off. "They're just...too much effort! You're nice to a girl, and she automatically assumes you just wanna get into her pants. You're mean, and she writes you off as a dick. You get involved with one and then it's even worse! She wants to spend the night _in_ with you, then she wants you to take her _out_ the next, she's always stealing your clothes when I'm sure she has fucking plenty of her own," he ranted, complete with angry hand gestures and unamused facial expression. But that was nothing unusual, Bryan's face was mostly unamused anyway. "At least when they're drunk you can just have a bit of fun with them and it's forgotten the next day – unless she's so drunk she breaks her ankle on the sidewalk. Then you have to spend the night in A&E with her explaining to the doctors why you're both so intoxicated in the first place when you're underage and should know better. It's all just fucking effort," he sighed.

By the end of this, Tala was laughing outright. Bryan was an emotional guy. Not in the way that other people are emotional, but in the way that when he felt something, he felt it hard. It just so happened that Bryan's feelings ranged from being irritated to downright furious, and rarely anything else besides. Either he felt like putting you in hospital, or he didn't. And that was all. "You know why you have it so hard, Bry?" Tala said, as though he was about to offer a piece of sage advice.

"Why?" Bryan grunted, raising an eyebrow.

"Well," Tala said, snickering, "They do say that if you 'treat 'em mean, you keep 'em keen.' Clearly this seems to be the case with you."

"T'chh, it's more a case of 'treat them mean and hope they piss the fuck off,' but whatever," he said, flicking a little ash off the end of his cigarette again.

"It's gotta be nice, though" Tala continued after a while, "going to an American high school. All those short skirts and low cut-tops in summer. Must piss you off to be over here in the snow in June and missing all of that," he said, smirking as he saw a girl walk past them, all bundled up and completely shapeless.

Bryan just raised his eyebrows in agreement and took another drag on his cigarette. "I guess. Cheerleaders are fucking annoying, though."

"They're fucking hot, though, too."

"Hn, if you like that kind of thing," Bryan said dismissively.

"What, and you don't?" Tala asked, skeptically, to which he all he received in return was an offhand roll of the eyes. "Come on, all joking and ranting aside, we're in high school. How many conquests have you had?" he asked wryly.

"What? Cheerleaders or just girls in general?" Bryan said, his pale grey eyes glinting with amusement.

"Both," Tala replied simply.

Bryan just looked into the sky as he blew out a puff of smoke. "More than I can count on one hand," he said nonchalantly.

"More than you can count on two?"

Bryan's smirk was a little too wide as he shook his head again in amusement and flicked his cigarette stub to the ground. When he folded his arms and lifted his clear grey eyes to meet Tala's, the pair were laughing.

"You filthy man whore," Tala joked, pushing his crimson bangs backward with one hand.

Bryan roughly shoved him to the side in retaliation and twisted around on the bench to face him. "Like you can even talk. At least no one actually wants to _kill me_ yet! Like that wench's dad. Whatever-her-name-is," Bryan said, brow furrowing as he tried to remember a detail so useless as this girl's name.

"Kristina," Tala interjected on reflex.

"Yeah. You know her dad's hand still twitches towards his gun when he sees you, right? Saw it the other day," he continued.

Tala's eyes filled mischief as he remembered. Kristina was the very beautiful daughter of one of the local police officers in town. Long, ash-brown hair, ivory white skin and bright green eyes. There were few words to describe the look on the man's face when he found Tala wrapped around his daughter one morning in bed. Even fewer were the words to describe his face when he found him wrapped around her elder sister. Tala was young, hot blooded, and wasn't one to stick around with any girl for any length of time – not yet, anyway. It wasn't _Tala's_ fault that he was so irresistible, and that man had brought such good-looking, feisty daughters into the world. He didn't care for meek or shy girls, they weren't any fun. He liked them with a temper and a heap of self-confidence.

"Seriously Tal," Bryan said, looking at him with clear grey eyes that were both serious and smiling, "I'm honestly suprised you weren't actually shot."

"Really? I thought you'd be more suprised with how I jumped out of her bedroom window on the third-fucking-story without breaking anything."

The pair laughed and continued talking idly about girls and work and other perfectly ordinary things to pass the time, until the street began to darken as evening came. Shadows danced along the ground as the sounds of traffic died down and the sun dipped down beneath Moscow's industrial skyline in a pale wash of grey, crimson and gold.

**––––––––––––––––––––––––––––**

"So, what'd'ya think?"

Tala raised his eyebrows in vague amusement as he looked down at the laptop screen on the coffee table, before raising his eyes back up to Ian, who had just announced his new idea with a flourish. Looking sideways, Tala saw that Spencer's eyebrows were raised with similar mild amusement, while Bryan's eyebrows were turned down with a rather more pissed off expression.

It was late at night that same day and the Demolition Boys were sat in the cosy little lounge at Tala's place. The small television in the corner of the rectangular shaped room was tuned into a grungy music channel courtesy of Bryan, providing some alternative background music. He and Tala were sat on the couch; Bryan was slouching back lazily with his arms folded and his feet on the table, while Tala was sat back comfortably with his legs folded, playing idly with his beyblade launcher. Spencer had arrived around three weeks ago after sitting his final exam for the year at university, and was now sat comfortably in his dad's favourite armchair (Tala's father, like Kristina's, also worked in law enforcement. He held a significantly higher position, worked late hours, and was probably the reason Tala hadn't been shot at yet). Ian was stood excitedly in front of the television, facing the rest of his team with one hand on his hips, eagerly awaiting their responses to his proposal.

"Well, say something!" Ian said, throwing his arms out in front of him and quickly becoming impatient.

"...The Blitzkrieg Boys," Tala said slowly, mouthing the words for the first time, testing them out.

He uncrossed his legs and leant forward in his seat, resting his elbows on his knees and letting his eyes fall back to the information on the screen before him. It was proudly displaying Ian's designs for a new team emblem, across which was emblazoned their new team name. The design was predominantly black and grey, with accents of yellow and orange here and there. It featured the stylistic pattern of a spinning beyblade in black with thin highlights in orange and grey. Fine yellow bolts of what looked like electricity or lightening spiraled around the blade, and stamped across the bottom of the emblem in a kind of Russian-style typeface were the words 'Blitzkrieg Boys'.

After thoroughly considering the image, Tala leant back in his seat once again, crossed his legs, and gestured lazily to Ian with one hand. "Explain."

"Huh?" Ian blinked confusedly. "But you asked me a while back to think of –"

"No, I know that. I haven't forgotten," Tala interrupted dismissively. "I mean, why this. Why 'Blitzkrieg Boys'? Come on, Ian, where's your sales pitch?" he asked, smirking.

"Oh, well," Ian began, with renewed gusto, "we're studying the second world war in History in school, and today's topic was about Hitler's Blitzkrieg tactics. You know what Blitzkrieg means, right –"

"– Yeah, _lightening war_," Tala said, interrupting again.

"Yep, and it was –"

"– an offensive strategy, based purely on the use of speed and movement to overwhelm the enemy. It was employed with huge success, practically devastating Russia during Operation Barabossa, killing –"

"– God, Tala, you sound like a textbook."

"I'm just lending you a hand, my dear little friend."

"No you're not, you're showing off!"

"I can't help that I have an excellent memory," Tala said smugly.

"You can't help that you're an arrogant prick," Ian muttered under his breath.

"Whatever, are you going to continue your history lesson?"

"I dunno, are you gonna stop interrupting me?"

There were a few moments of the two trying to stare each other out childishly, before Tala grinned and held up his hands to show that he was finished with his interruptions for now.

"Anyway," Ian said irritatedly, "so I was sitting in class listening to all of this when I suddenly thought, that's a really cool name."

There were a few seconds of silence before Tala just laughed outright. He thought he heard Spencer chuckle quietly to the side of him while Bryan just cussed under his breath. "Is that it?"

"No!" Ian shouted over the sound of Tala's laughter. "Stop laughing!" he whined. Tala controlled his amusement, and motioned for Ian to continue. "I mean, think about it. What do we stand for as the 'Demolition Boys'?"

"...Demolition?" Tala snarked.

Ian rolled his eyes at Tala's baiting, but kept his head. "Exactly. And for what cause – Boris'? Fuck no, we're through with all of that. But that doesn't mean we're just gonna let ourselves fall into being some shitty second-rate bladers, right? We're the best," he said, with an offhand, unconscious arrogance that was so like Tala. "So I thought this name would be the perfect way for us to redefine ourselves. We're gonna blaze through this competition. We're gonna show everyone just who we are and what we can do – but we'll do it under our own steam, 'cause we're nobody's puppets." Ian finished his little inspirational spiel, complete with triumphant little hand movements, and Tala watched as the smaller blader looked him dead in the eye, hoping for his approval.

Tala turned his icy blue eyes back to the laptop screen, taking in the design again. It was very clever, really. Even though it was the picture was still, there was a sense of movement and power about it that embodied the notion of the word 'Blitzkrieg.' And he had to admit, the name was already growing on him. It sounded silly, but Tala almost welcomed ridding himself and his team of the name 'Demotion Boys.' It was like shaking off the last of the shackles that Boris had chained them with.

They weren't the boys they used to be – they were older now, stronger, and wiser. And for others to recognise this, they had to recognise it themselves. Tala felt that a change of name was the easiest, and fastest way to declare to everyone who cared to know that they were not just tools of the Abbey, controlled by lies and fear. They were free men, and that was all the truth that they needed. Their destiny was up to them, and they would walk their own paths, swift and purposeful, blazing like lightning with the knowledge of who they really are.

Tala smirked to himself; it was all very dramatically poetic, but he liked that. Ian was more creative than he gave him credit for.

"Spencer," Tala said quietly, breaking Ian's apprehensive silence. "What do you think?"

The quiet blonde merely shrugged his shoulders and said simply, "I like it." He was a man of few words, but honest words. His presence was a quiet one that you could rely on.

"Hm," Tala said with a faint smile. Then he turned to Bryan, who looked like he had a rat up his ass this entire time. "What about you? I know you've got something to say, so spit it out already."

"I don't like it," he said, eyeing the screen with distaste.

Tala rolled his eyes. "Do you have any specific reason, or is this just your indigestion speaking?"

Bryan made an unimpressed grunt. "It sounds like the name of some fucking lame-ass European boy-band." He ran his fingers through his hair and shifted in his seat, before turning to Tala with a frown. "And I don't get indigestion," he added indignantly, as an afterthought.

Tala snickered. "Well, whatever. I like it, Bryan, so I'm just going to disregard your opinion." Then he twisted his face to look at Ian. "So, nice work," he said, to the sound of Ian's self-congratulatory celebrations. "Took you long enough, though. I want you to e-mail that to Dickenson, now. So, you know, they announce us properly during the tournament or whatever," he said with a lazy flick of the wrist.

Ian wasted no time in twisting the laptop around, tapping rapidly on the keyboard as he sent the email. Spencer stood up and announced that he was going to make himself a drink, at which point Tala and everyone else requested drinks from him as well.

"Oi, Bryan, lighten up," Tala said wryly. "You've got a face on you like a slapped backside." Bryan slowly turned his head around to face Tala with his trademark scowl. Then, he pulled his lips back into a mocking grimace of a smile, before grabbing the remote control and turning up the volume on the television. Clearly he was unhappy with the change of name, but knew that arguing about it wasn't going to change anything. Tala decided to just let him sulk it out for a while.

When Spencer returned with a tray of drinks, the four bladers began to chat about leaving for the tournament on Thursday. Bryan griped about having to endure a flight of that length so soon after the last one, Ian prattled on immaturely about hot air-hostesses, Spencer listened quietly, contributing every now and then from his space in the arm chair, and Tala found himself looking more and more forward to this tournament – to be blading beside his friends, his brothers, again.

It was a return to something very familiar; yet it was also completely different, and refreshing, and...reassuringly _normal._

It was the start of something new.

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><p><strong><em>AN:_**_ Lol, words cannot describe how much I enjoy writing about Bryan and Tala. :') Lol, just incase anyone's **wondering what the Blitzkrieg Boy's team badge looks like**, go to google and type in 'beyblade world organization english logo.' The first image that pops up – the red one – think that, but in black, with crackling electricity around it and stuff. Hahaha, er, yeah. It looks awesome **in my head**. :|  
>I always liked the team badges that everyone had in seasons one and two, and was disappointed that no one really had them in season three. I spent ages googling for one for the Blitz Boys, but all that came up was their old wrecking-ball logo. So, if anyone's got any ideas for a logo for the <strong>BEGA<strong> team, then feel free to let me know 'cause I have nothing. xD Haha, obvs you'll be credited for it.  
>Anyway, I hope this chapter was enjoyable to read, and don't be afraid to drop me a review, however small. I like to hear people's thoughts :) <em>

_**Next chapter:** Saturday  
><em>


	14. Anticipation

**_A/N:_**_Hey there guys, here I am with the next update. Just the Bladebreakers, chilling, the day before leaving or Mr. D's two week training get together in the mountains with the other teams. You'll be happy to hear that the chapters start to get a lot more focus on the story now, as I've just been pretty much setting the scene up til now. :)  
><em>_Many thanks to **Ninja Lady Jae**, **country-grl20** and **some stuff** for their wonderful reviews. Hope you enjoy this one too. :D_

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><p><strong>Chapter Thirteen: Anticipation<strong>

"Are you sure Tyson'll be okay lighting the grill on his own, Rei?"

Hilary placed down the bag of disposable plates and cups she was carrying on the kitchen table and turned to Rei with her hands on her hips, a concerned expression on his face. The Chinese blader was facing the stove, cooking up a delicious stir-fry for the farewell barbeque they were holding down by the river this afternoon. There was already a pot of steamed rice standing on the table, as well as a dish of homemade (which basically meant Rei-made) duck-dumplings and spring rolls. Tyson, Max and Kenny had already gone down to the river to set up the grill, and they took the bag of bread rolls and hot-dog sausages (Max protectively clutching the mustard) with them. She didn't know where Kai was – she wasn't even sure if he was coming at all.

Rei shrugged, apparently not concerned at all. "Sure. He's a big boy now, Hil, I'm think he can handle it," he said, smirking slightly over his shoulder at her.

The petite Japanese girl folded her arms and narrowed her ruby eyes in suspicion, staring out through the kitchen window. "No, he's going to try and grill the sausages on his own, I just know it," she said, with a hint of paranoia. "He's only going to end up burning them, you know. Or worse, actually cooking them nicely and then eating them all before any of us get a chance to –"

"– Haha, relax Hilary!" Rei turned his back on the stir-fry he was making so he could look her in the eye. "You're stressing out over nothing. Besides, Max and Kenny are with him, they'll keep him in line. The hot-dogs will be just fine."

Hilary shot him a pointedly skeptical look, which Rei just laughed at dismissively as he turned around and carried on cooking. Obviously not being taken seriously today, Hilary just left the room and busied herself in hunting down a couple of picnic blankets. She walked down the hall and around the corner to the airing cupboard, which is where she supposed most blankets _should_ live. She wasn't too hopeful though, because the resident males of the Kinomiya household were not exactly what you'd call organised. She had recently declared Tyson's bedroom a strictly no-go zone, for serious risk of actually losing your feet in what was surely a radioactive heap of underwear, comic books, overdue homework and empty soda cans on his floor.

Opening the door to the airing cupboard and kneeling down on the floor, she began to rummage around the bottom of the cupboard, shifting through the towels, bed sheets and outdated copies of Japanese fitness and sports magazines in search of the elusive picnic blankets. As she did so, her hand came across one particular sport magazine that caught her eye, dating back to two years ago. On the front cover was a picture of the Bladebreakers when they'd first joined together as a team after the Japanese regionals. Hilary carefully smoothed it out and held it up to the light to take a closer look, a smile playing around her lips. They all looked so young. Not that they were all particularly old now – Tyson was due to turn sixteen next month, while she was sure Kai was eighteen already, if not older. But they all looked _so_ much younger here.

Tyson was front and center of the photo, making sure that all the attention was focused on him, of course. He was showing off his Dragoon blade with one hand and making a victory sign with the other. On his head was his trademark cap, and on his face was a huge grin that somehow managed to be cheesy, arrogant, and surprisingly adorable all at the same time. He was also a little chubbier here too, Hilary noticed. It wasn't until she mentally compared the Tyson in this photo to the Tyson of today that she realized he really had shed a lot of his puppy fat in the recent year and was actually firming up quite nicely. She smirked. Looks like all her training efforts were doing some good to him, after all.

Behind Tyson stood Max, poking his head adorably over his best friend's shoulder. He too was wearing a huge smile on his face and he was also making a victory sign, just like Tyson. On second thought, Hilary guessed that Max was probably mimicking Tyson for the fun of it – his facial expression was just a little too exaggerated to be genuine.

Kenny was standing to the left of Tyson and Max. He was smiling up at the camera and waving, and under his other arm was Dizzi. As usual, the boy's eyes were completely obscured by his thick, honey brown hair, and his tie was done up neatly. Hilary snorted. He was so little he looked about eight years old, even though he couldn't have been any younger than thirteen.

To the right of the photo, standing sideways, was Rei. His long black hair was exactly the way it was now, wrapped up at the back with his messy bangs secured in place by his ever-present yin-yang headband. He had his Driger blade grasped in his hand close to his chest and the way he held himself emphasised his muscled arm. He was smiling a little mysteriously over his shoulder into the camera with smouldering golden eyes and it was clear to see why so many girls swooned over him. He was quite attractive. Not that _she_ thought he was attractive. It's just what she saw him as. Objectively. But she wasn't attracted _to_ him.

Moving swiftly on and shaking her head slightly to herself, she finally turned her eyes to Kai at the back of the photo. He was also standing at a slight angle away from the camera and was lazily resting a hand on his hip. He was looking straight into the camera with deep crimson eyes and a proud, arrogant smirk that said, '_I'm too good for this, so you all better count yourself lucky that I'm gracing you with my presence today._' He looked so much younger, too. His face was softer and less angular than it was now and Hilary actually thought he looked kinda cute. Not that she didn't already think he was good looking, 'cause she did. But when she looked at him today, he was more like that intimidatingly hot guy who's way out of your league, as opposed to this softer, endearing sort of casual arrogance that she saw in the photograph.

Her eyes misted over as she drifted back into memories of the past couple of months she'd spent training, joking with, and getting to know the rest of the team. When Rei arrived from China and came to stay at the dojo, she found that he was a very welcome addition (or rather, return) to the dynamic that she had become so used to. Between Max's constantly cheerful energy, Kenny's cool rationality and Tyson's hot-headedness, stubbornness and arrogance, Rei really broke things up with his level head and quiet confidence. She actually thought he was a very pleasant individual right from the start. He was kind, soft-spoken, and made an effort to get to know her. He stepped up to her defense when he thought Tyson took his teasing one step too far, and tried to regulate the pranks and tricks that were commonplace in the dojo. However, he wasn't above a bit of fun himself, often taking part in the tomfoolery himself when he thought no harm could come of it. In a nut-shell, Hilary got on really well with him and no longer just considered him a friend of Tyson's, but a friend of hers as well.

Kai was a completely different story altogether. At first, she didn't know that much about him, other than that he used to be their captain and was (in Tyson's words) a pretty good blader, but a total grouch. When they went to visit him and he declared a rematch against Tyson, she confirmed in her head that he _was_ both of these things, and from what Max had tried (and failed) to say in his defense, that he was also a lousy friend.

But the past couple of months had really changed her mind about the tall, stoic blader. In fact, the very first morning after his return was when it all began. All it took was for them both to both cross each other's path in the hallway that first morning to wake up Tyson (she with the ice-water and Kai with the chili) for her to smirk evilly to herself and acknowledge his good taste in wake-up calls.

When she returned to the dojo after school that day, Kai had (to her surprise) called her over and immediately began asking her about how exactly she'd been training Tyson and Max over the past year. She'd told him, and it wasn't long before he suggested that she join the team and act as coach, so that _she_ could bark the orders and _he_ could get a decent day's training in for once.

Of course, Hilary had to agree to run everything past him in the morning first, to make sure he approved of her training schedule and that she was meeting what he thought the team's needs were. And since then, they'd had a perfectly reasonable working relationship which almost bordered on friendship. _Almost._

Kai always kept such a distance that she never quite knew what he was thinking. Of course, she thought she knew him well enough to let her guard down around him – and she didn't think bad of him anymore for ditching the team before. Like Tyson said, he'd had his reasons. And if the rest of the guys, who'd actually been wronged by him, could accept those reasons, then so could she.

"There y'are, home-girl! What's up with you? Hehe, or should I say, what's _down?_" Hilary blinked, snapping quickly out of her reverie at the sound of Grandpa's voice. She dropped the magazine she was holding and got up off her knees.

"Oh, Grandpa! I er, I was just thinking and lost track of time, I guess."

Grandpa's eyes lighted on the magazine on the floor. He picked it up and gazed at it fondly. "Yeah, I remember this. This is when Tyson first got down with the homeboys and started off on his travels. Hehe, he always did dream big, my boy – and look at him now. Not even sixteen and he's already livin' it."

Hilary smiled fondly. "Yeah…oh, hey Gramps, I just remembered – where are the picnic blankets?"

Grandpa blinked and pulled his eyes away from the magazine. "The picnic blankets? They're in the laundry room, next to the spare tyre an' the broken toaster. Come on, home-girl, I thought you knew your way around the place by now!" He said with a wink, chuckling to himself.

Hilary just smiled and rolled her eyes as she made her way to the laundry room. _Of course_. The airing cupboard, she thought wryly, what a silly place to look for blankets.

–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

"Quick, Maxi, put that one out too!"

"Huh? What one, where?"

"That one, to your left! Your other left – MY LEFT!"

"I told you it wasn't a good idea, Tyson, didn't I _tell_ you! But did you listen –"

"Geez! Alright Kenny, I get it! Just shut up already and help us put these hot-dogs out before Hilary gets here!"

Hilary stopped beside Grandpa and Rei and blinked at the scene before her eyes, not entirely sure what to make of it. Tyson, Max and Kenny were all stood by the river with their backs to her, waving their arms in the air and stomping frantically on the ground. The portable barbeque grill was turned over on its side issuing clouds of smoke, as were the small patches of ground that the three clowns were stamping on (which Hilary assumed is where the flaming hot-dogs landed after Tyson knocked the grill down in a panic). A distinct smell of _burning_ lingered in the air.

"Right," Tyson panted, completely oblivious that they were being watched, "all we gotta do now is get rid of these burnt ones, pick the grill back up and start the fire again. Hilary'll never find out. Haha, I told ya I could fix it!"

"Er, but Ty? Didn't you put _all_ the hot-dogs on the grill?" Max said awkwardly.

"Oh, crap!" Tyson's hands flew up to his hat in panic, "I did! Hilary is gonna find out! We're so – wait!" His eyes lit up as his face gained the I've-just-had-a-brilliant-idea expression. "I'll just run to the store and get some more! I'll be back in like five min – oh! Heh heh... hey, Hilary," he froze in mid-step as he turned around and saw Hilary standing there with her hands on her hips and narrowed eyes.

She gritted her teeth for all of two seconds before letting loose. "I knew it! I _knew_ you were going to do something stupid like this. _You_ _set fire to all the hot-dogs_?" she yelled, stomping towards him.

"Ah! Hil, it was an accident! I was just tryn'a be helpful," he cried, dodging Hilary's outstretched arms as she made to grab for him.

"Helpful? Pah, you were just hungry more like! Like you always are – you're not even a walking stomach, you're a black hole!"

"Geez! I'm sorry, I can fix it! I was just gonna run to store and get some new ones!"

"Yeah, you'd better _run_, Tyson!" aiming one last swipe at his disappearing body. Within a few seconds he was already up the hill and down the road. She shot Rei a pointed told-you-so look, which he returned with a meek smile (and a roll of the eyes when she wasn't looking), before making her way over to the riverbank and helping Max with the grill.

"So?" she said to Max, a little tetchily, as they set the grill back on its feet.

"Hey, don't look at me like that, Hil, it was his idea!" Max appealed.

"Well, obviously. Why didn't you try and stop him?"

"I did," Max exclaimed, throwing his hands out before him, "but you know what he gets like. Thought we were saying he wasn't capable of just grilling a few sausages –"

"Which he _isn't_ –"

"Come on Hil, give him a break. He really _was_ trying to be helpful, this time, honest."

Hilary folded her arms and pursed her lips at him. But Max's 'please-go-easy-on-Tyson' face was just a little too pitiful and cute for her to stay miffed for very long, as usual. So she just sighed and walked away with a quiet, 'alright, whatever.'

Ten minutes later and they were all set up. Hilary and grandpa had laid out the picnic blankets and fold-away chairs, Kenny and Max set the rice and other dishes on top of a small wall that ran along the river bank (as they were hardy going to bring a whole table, too.) Rei rescued the grill, and before long it was smoking nicely, and ready to cook the hot dogs. So now the group was complete, save for Kai (they had absolutely no idea where he was – but they were used enough to him disappearing that they weren't too concerned), Tyson and the hotdogs.

"Hey, guys, I'm back!"

_Speak of the devil._ Hilary rolled her eyes and glanced over her shoulder at Tyson who was jogging down the hill, his arms wrapped around a brown grocery bag. "Told you I'd fix it," he said cheekily. She didn't reply, but instead turned her head to the side with a huff. She might have let Max off the hook, but she still wanted Tyson to know that she was not impressed.

Tyson handed the hot-dogs to Rei and stayed over there to chat, since he clearly wasn't wanted on the blanket. After a few minutes of covert glares from Hilary, Tyson grabbed one of the freshly cook hot-dogs and when over to sit down by her.

"Come on, Hil, Kai's supposed to be the wet-blanket around here, not you!" He wiggled a hot-dog in her face. It had a smily face on it, drawn messily with tomato ketchup. "First one off the grill, just for you," he said, cheesily.

Hilary rolled her eyes and accepted the happy hot-dog, smirking. "I'll have one of those cans of soda too, thanks," she said, pointing to the stack of cans by the food.

"Pfft, don't push your luck, miss," he said, but he got up anyway and grabbed a couple of cans. "Hey Hil, think fast!" he called, chucking a can over to her.

"Argh, Ty-son!" she growled. She only barely caught it, and narrowed her eyes at him for his efforts. He just chucked at her dismissively and went to join Max in grabbing some food. Although, he did _not_ join Max in slathering his hot-dog with inhumane amounts of mustard. He had nothing against the condiment, of course, but he had his limits for everything. Well, most things.

The afternoon past pleasantly enough, with Tyson making jokes and Grandpa doing some funny (and embarrassing) things every now and then. Kai popped out from some small shrubs at some point and came to join them. Hilary wondered vaguely how much of his time he actually spent sleeping in the greenery, but thought she'd better not ask.

They played some old-school truth and dare, which very quickly had to be stopped because the dares were getting too silly (and Kai was _not_ going to walk naked into the local supermarket singing the Russian national anthem at the top of his lungs _any_ time soon).

When the day began to glow warm with sunset, Kenny tried to rile everyone together for a pre-travel pep talk, courtesy of his good self and Dizzi. Of course, no one was really paying any attention until Hilary belted out at the top of her lungs for everybody to be quiet. "Thank-you," she said sweetly to the stunned faces of the group, before twirling down on the ground neatly next to Tyson.

"Thanks, Hilary," he said gratefully, before adjusting his glasses and beginning his talk. "Now, I thought that since we're leaving early tomorrow morning, and probably won't get much of a chance to go over our game plans on the plane, I'd discuss what Dizzi and I have come up with for you guys. But first, I think we should all give ourselves a pat on the back for all the hard work and training you guys have put in over the past couple of months,"

"Here, here!" Tyson called, raising his soda can in a mock toast. Max chuckled, while Kai just smirk with a self-satisfied 'hn.'

'_Hey, and lets not forget Hilary! She's put in blood, sweat and tears to rip you guys into shape – you wouldn't be here today if it wasn't for her!"_ Dizzi said.

"Oh, don't be silly," Hilary said, a rosy blush covering her cheeks.

'_Oh, shush. We girls have to look out for each other!'_

"She's right, home-girl," Grandpa said with a twinkle in his eye, "you've done us all proud."

"N'awww," Tyson jibed, patting her on the head and throwing an arm around her shoulders. "Yeah, good work, Hil. Takes a lot to get Kai's lazy bones up and working, but you seemed to manage it somehow," he said jokingly.

"Oh, ha ha, Tyson," she said, with a hand in his face, still blushing and pushing him away. "I think you've got mixed up in that head of yours somewhere. You see, the one with the lazy bones is _you_."

"Anyway, moving on," Kenny said, trying to regain focus in the group. "I thought we'd just go over some possible line-ups so we can get the most out of this team. Seeing as Max is the steel wall of this team, I thought our best bet would be to place him against and purely offensive opponents, or against an opponent that bases their tactics on speed. He'll be able to wait out all their efforts like nothing, and then bring the game home to us."

"Yeah, alright, go team Draciel!" Max cheered, holding his blade up high. "I'm liking the sound of this strategy, Chief, sound great."

"Yeah, I know," Kenny said, a little too smugly. Dizzi called him up on that, but he ignored her and carried on. "Next, there's you, Rei. You've got more of a balanced approach to battle, so you'd be quite well prepared for anything. Although I thought maybe we could put you up against defensive and speed battlers as well, because you've got the cool smarts to wait out their tactics and think of a counter strategy."

"Sure, sounds good to me Kenny. Man, I can't wait to get back in the stadium!" He said, with much enthusiasm.

"Kai, since you're captain, you're obviously gonna pick and choose your battles as you please, so I don't see what much I can say here…" Kenny trailed off a little awkwardly. During their last round of tournaments, Kai mostly sat on the bench and only really chipped in if he felt like it, or if he had to, like that one time in China when Rei and Tyson were late. "But since your style is more offensive anyway, I'd like to think we could use you in battles against offensive opponents, too. Fight fire with fire, so to speak."

"Hn. Whatever you say, Kenny."

"Hey, what about me!" Tyson whined, wondering why on earth he hadn't got a mention yet.

"Oh, well –"

'_We just thought we'd throw you in against anyone, Tyson. You know, to give our ears a break when you've been whining for a little too long.'_

"Pah, I'll give my ears a break from your cheeky little speakers in a second, Dizzi," Tyson said, waving his fist at her in jest.

"Tyson, you will not!" Kenny said, getting defensive.

"I'm just kidding, Chief, geez!" Tyson said, holding his hands up before him.

"You'd better be," Kenny said huffily. "Anyway, I thought we could use you and Kai interchangeably, since your styles are more or less based on offense."

"You bet they're based on offense," Tyson said, throwing himself down onto his back on the blanket and resting his head on his hands. "Offense _is_ the best offense, after all," he said, looking cheekily over to Max.

"Hey, no its not, defense is!" he called, lobbing a half-finished hot dog at him.

"Ugh, hey man! You got mustard on my shirt!" Tyson's eyes narrowed in mischief as he reached for the ketchup bottle.

"Oh boy," Hilary said vacating the picnic blanket, anticipating the messy food fight to come, and walking down to join Kai by the river. She hadn't noticed he'd gotten up until just now.

"So," she started, looking sideways at him, "are you excited?" Kai just stood there with his arms folded, staring out over the river. "Oh, come on," she teased, prodding him in the side with her elbow, "you've gotta be at least a little excited."

"Hn. If I say yes, will you be quiet?"

"Errm, no," she said with a smile. Even though he'd turned up late, Kai was surprisingly placid today. He'd joined in with conversations every now and then and even endured their silly game (for a while), so she knew no harm would come from provoking him. The sound of Tyson and Max yelling in their food fight reached her ears. Sounded like he'd just been hit in the eye.

"Then yes," Kai said, stooping down to pick up a pebble and then throwing it across the river. It skipped one, two, three times before disappearing below the water. "I guess I am _a little excited._"

Hilary smiled a small, triumphant smile. "I knew it," she said, simply.

Kai just rolled his eyes and threw another pebble. After a few moments of silence and pebble throwing, Kai said, "Shouldn't you be packing, or something?"

"Hmm, nah," Hilary said, picking up a pebble and trying to make it skip the water too. She frowned a little when it just sunk miserably to the bottom. "I'll do it later, before I go to bed."

Kai smirked. "Hn. Whatever. Just don't make us late."

Hilary rolled her eyes, but smiled. "Right, as if that would happen. I'll have you know I'm perfectly organized, thank you."

"Right."

"Hey, Hilary, heads up!"

Hilary turned around just in time for a hot-dog bun to hit her right in the forehead. _Oh, that boy._

"_TY-_SON!"

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><p><strong><em>AN:_**_ Gotta ask, is anyone else excited for this tournament to get underway, 'cause I am. :D Haha, especially after posting my teaser chapter earlier this week. If you haven't checked it out yet, you totally should, 'cause things are gonna get pretty intense down the line. O:  
><strong>Next chapter: <strong> Saturday :)_

_~Indie _


	15. Raring to Go

**_A/N: _**_Hiya guys! Its just leaving day for our bladers, setting off for Colorado and the training exercises that Dickenson has planned. This is probably the last day of 'rest' they'll have until the end of the tournament, so they all better make the most of it. Thanks to **country-grl20** for your review! :)_

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><p><strong>Chapter Fourteen: Raring To Go<strong>

"Umm, right," Hilary said, her hands rising up to her head as she frantically checked her mental checklist, "so all my toiletries are in the suitcase already, I've packed my toothbrush. My cell phone is –"

"In your overnight bag with everything else, I just watched you pack it," Tyson interrupted from the doorway, rolling his eyes. "Come on Hil, you've got everything. We're gonna be late."

"Oh my god, but what about…" Hilary ran off to the side of the room, muttering to herself as she turfed through her draws. Tyson repressed a sigh and pulled out his blackberry to check the time. He'd been waiting around in the doorway to her bedroom for ten minutes now. He'd been waiting in Gramps' Toyota for ten minutes _before_ that, until Kai told him to just go up and drag Hilary out or else they'd miss the flight. As far as he could guess, he'd probably end up waiting another ten minutes until they actually left. Honestly, sometimes Tyson thought he had the patience of a freaking saint.

"Seriously, Hil, we're_ gonna miss the flight_," Tyson stressed again as Hilary disappeared past him and into the bathroom. She was all flustered and there was a stressed out blush over her cheeks.

"Two minutes, Tyson, that's all I'm asking for!" she called from the bathroom. She returned a few seconds later with a hairbrush and a hairdryer and threw them into the suitcase that lay open on the middle of her bed. Her very messily packed suitcase. For someone who was so OCD sometimes, she sure was disorganized when it came to packing – it looked like she'd just thrown everything in about an hour ago (which actually, Tyson thought, she pretty much had). There was no structure to it at all, just a pile of clothes, some books, shoes, shampoo bottles, and – was that a bra? Tyson quickly looked away from the purple lacy little thing, suddenly feeling a little hot under the collar. Damnit, it was seven am, he was tired, hungry and did not want to deal with Hilary and her underwear hanging around all over the place. Stupid girls and their girly things making life complicated for him.

"Yeah yeah, two minutes," he growled, "you said that _ten minutes ago_! You should have packed earlier!"

"Ugh," Hilary groaned impatiently. She twisted around to glare at him with her ruby eyes flashing and her little hands balled up into fists at her sides. "You _know _I couldn't, Tyson!" The navy haired teen winced a little as her voice reached that high pitch that was just a little too much for him to handle. "I started as soon as I got back!"

"Well you shoulda done it yesterday, then!"

"Duh! I would have if you didn't keep us all hanging around the dojo all night playing those stupid little games," she countered, waving her hands around in indignation.

"Stupid, huh?" Tyson countered.

They were _not_ stupid and, as far as he remembered, they all had a riot – even Kai joined in eventually! After they all got cleaned up after that food fight, of course. He remembered what a funny sight Hilary was when she came out of the bathroom wearing one of his old Bladebreakers t-shirts (complete with logo and the name _Kinomiya_ emblazoned boldly in orange writing across the back) and a pair of his boxers with the drawstring done all the way up to keep them from falling off her hips. They dwarfed her completely and she was the butt of many jokes. But, when the only other option was something of Gramps' (waaay _no_), Rei's (awkward) or Kai's (_more_ awkward) she didn't have a lot of choice in the matter (Max was packed already and all his clothes were at home, anyhow).

They pretty much just passed the night conspiring about the teams that would appear in the tournament, playing silly little games, and chatting until they fell asleep where they sat at around two am. Then when the 'early alarm' on her cell phone went off at half five and woke them all up, Hilary sat bolt upright, screamed dramatically about not having packed yet, stole a pair of his jeans to cover his boxers that she was still wearing and literally ran all the way home.

"Yeah! You know, if I didn't hang around I could've gone home, packed and actually gotten some sleep." She said, prodding him in the chest with her finger. Tyson swatted it away irritatedly, his ears vaguely registering the sound of someone stomping up the stairs, but ignoring it.

"Well," he said indignantly, "_sorry_ for letting you stay the night so you didn't have to walk home in the dark!" He poked her once or twice in the shoulder to illustrate his indignation. How ungrateful!

"I knew it." Kai said bluntly from behind Tyson, making him jump. Before the navy haired teen had a chance to turn around, he was grabbed by the back of his collar and pulled out of the room. "Stop flirting. Get in the car," he said sharply, totally disregarding Tyson's muttered protests as he marched down the stairs and out the door.

Kai strode into Hilary's bedroom, zipped up the suitcase and heaved it off the bed, completely ignoring _her_ protests too. Then, turning to her, he said shortly, "Five minutes, or we're leaving without you."

He strode out of the room and down the stairs with her bright purple suitcase in hand, almost as if it didn't weigh about twenty kilograms (which it did). Hilary huffed and puffed and glared at his disappearing shadow, before rushing back into the bathroom to check if she forgot her toothbrush.

**–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––**

Bryan roughly tore his headphones off and cussed as the captain started speaking through the intercom. He _hated_ those in-flight announcements – the volume of the movies was _never_ loud enough, so you had to turn the headphones up, and then the captain's voice was always _too_ loud in comparison. Apparently, they were high enough now for everyone to remove their seat belts, although, honestly, he never had his on in the first place.

The four Blitzkrieg Boys, (well, Tala, Bryan and Ian) spent the morning fighting over who would have the window seats. However, turns out that it was pointless because, in the end, they were lumped together in the middle block of the carriage. So then the fight turned into who'd have the aisle seats instead. Of course, the smallest of the Blitzkrieg Boys rarely won a fight against the bigger two, so as it was now, Tala sat furthest to the left by the aisle. He was leaning on the arm rest trying to see past the curtain to the air hostesses, running his fingers through his hair with boredom. Bryan rolled his eyes – Tala needed a hair cut. Next to him sat Ian. He had his big headphones on and was playing Metal Gear on his PSP, paying no attention whatsoever to anything else around him. Next was Spencer. He was snoozing already and Bryan could hear the sounds of classical music coming out from the earphones around his neck. And then there was Bryan himself sat furthest to the right, also by the aisle, strumming his fingers agitatedly on the armrest and bored out of his mind. Moscow to Denver on three connecting flights was a really fucking long way to travel.

"Oi, Bry," Tala called across the seats.

Bryan lethargically turned his head around and looked over Spencer and Ian to the fiery headed captain. "What?" he grunted.

"Fancy a game, to make the flight a little more interesting?" he said, with a sly smile on his face.

Bryan knew that smile – he wore it regularly whenever there was something mischievous going through his head. "What've you got in mind?"

"They're going to bring the drinks out, soon," he stated, nodding his head towards the front of the cabin where the air-hostesses were.

"So?"

"So I propose a challenge."

"What kind of challenge?"

"A _challenging challenge_," he smirked.

Bryan rolled his eyes. "Are you gonna get to the point some time before we land, Tal?"

"I dunno, if you'd just shut up and listen, I'd tell you."

"If you'd just hurry up and tell me, I'd listen."

Tala rolled his eyes. "A competition. We're both pretty handsome young men – well, I am, anyway. You're alright, I guess." Bryan sniggered and rolled his eyes, silently cursing the two seats between he and Tala that were the only thing stopping him from giving the red head a thump on the shoulder. "We should see who can charm the most hostesses into giving us alcohol."

Bryan raised an eyebrow. "No contest. I get served all the time – you look about twelve. I'd beat you so bad I _might_ almost feel sorry for you. Almost."

"Fuck off," Tala said lightly, ignoring a disgruntled look from an elderly woman nearby. "It's not about how easy it is, it's about the charm. You've gotta _charm_ them, Bryan, make them feel good. And then get the alcohol. Although, I can understand why that might be difficult for you," he jibed smugly.

Bryan's brow furrowed. "Why?" he demanded. "I can be charming."

Tala scoffed. "Spencer's toe has more charm than you."

"Fuck you," Bryan said. He had _a lot_ more charm than Spencer's toe, thank-you very much, and he was damn well going to prove just how much more. "So what are we counting, then? Drinks or smiles and stuff?"

"Both. The performance as a whole."

"Right. You're on."

After a few minutes of competitive comments and glares, the curtains on Tala's side of the plane were drawn to the side and out came the drinks trolley, pushed by an attractive young brunette with large, dark eyes. Tala immediately got his game face on and started off by just staring intensely at her, trying to catch her eye. It worked. He smiled roguishly each time she looked at him and, by the time she reached his row, Bryan could already see a light pink flush over her cheeks. He rolled his eyes and smirked, shaking his head and snickering as he listened in on Tala's small talk and smooth compliments. It was the eyes, he decided. Every girl was a sucker for blue eyes, and Tala's sharp turquoise orbs were the perfect kind of penetrating that pinned you down and didn't let go. There was simply no escaping them. He almost felt sorry for the poor girl.

Five minutes later and Tala was sitting back smoothly in his seat with a bottle of beer on his tray table and a self satisfied smirk on his face. Bryan rolled his eyes and wondered where the hell _his_ hostess was with the trolley so he could blow Tala's little show right out of the water. Bryan saw the curtains twitch from the corner of his eye, so he cleared his throat and ran his fingers through his hair in preparation, but when he heard Tala laugh outright he looked up, and cussed.

Well, that was just his fucking luck.

Oh no, it wasn't that the hostess was old, or ugly. _That_ he could have dealt with. No, the hostess was, in fact, a _host_. A balding, middle-aged, bulbous nosed host. Trying to ignore Tala's stifled laughter at the end of the row, but sending him heated glares every few seconds, Bryan waited for the him to push the trolly down the aisle.

"Can I offer you anything to drink, sir?"

Bryan looked up, utterly unimpressed and not even bothering to try and hide it. Tala's snickering in his ear wasn't doing him any favors. "I'll, er.. I'll just have an orange juice," he said shortly, without even so much as a please or thank you. Stupid man, ruining his chances to get one up on Tala.

A few minutes later, and one cheerfully bright glass of orange juice on the tray-table, the red head smirked and looked sideways at Bryan with eyes that clearly said, _Tala: One – Bryan: Zero_.

**––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––**

Lee reached down under his seat and pulled out the complimentary blanket that airlines always provided, just in case a passenger wanted to sleep but found the cabin too cold to feel comfortable, which was always the case with him. It was _not_ the case, however, for his bright pink haired little sister who was currently passed out in the seat next to him, her head lolling about every now and then with the small bouts of turbulence.

He smiled faintly and shook his head as he draped the blanket gently over her and tucked it around her shoulders. He'd told Mariah to get as much sleep as she could last night, but did she listen? No, of course not. Because the silly girl was too excited that they'd all be leaving the next day. She fidgeted and laughed and bounced around the house as she packed in the early hours of the morning, keeping him awake as she chatted on about the tournament and this mystery two week-training thing that Dickenson had planned that they knew nothing about (besides that it existed and that, after spending the night somewhere after landing, all the teams would be picked up and taken to the mountains, which is where it would take place). She talked about the Bladebreakers and Rei. She fought with Kevin over his teasing her about Rei, and later teased Gary about airplane food and whether he thought he could make it through the flight. In short, her current quiet, peaceful, sleeping form was a direct contrast to her earlier chaotic one.

In the dark quiet of the airplane cabin, Lee spared a moment to think about Rei. He was looking forward to seeing him again too, although not quite in the same way that Mariah was, of course. He smirked. She was absolutely besotted with him, apparently.

Now, Lee took his role as her elder brother very seriously and didn't particularly appreciate anyone making their move on his baby sister. But, he also knew that Mariah was as stubborn and hard-headed as he and wouldn't think twice about Lee's disapproval if she she didn't care to. So, Lee supposed that if there was anyone he'd have to tolerate being with her, then he would rather it was someone he knew to have integrity, kindness and strength, like Rei, over anyone else.

He was brought swiftly out of his musings by a series of sharp pokes in the back of his head. "What, Kevin?" he growled quietly, knowing that it was the little green haired annoyance in the seat behind.

"I'm bored."

"Watch a movie then."

"But there's nothing good on," he whined.

Lee grit his teeth. "Then play one of the games they have or something."

"But they're all boring."

"Kevin," he warned shortly, feeling another few prods in the head.

"What?" he asked, feigning innocence. Lee didn't even need to turn around to know that there was a mischievous grin plastered on his face.

"If you poke me in the head one more time, you will lose that finger."

The poking stopped abruptly. But then not five minutes later, he could feel Kevin's little feet prodding the back of his seat, instead. It was very annoying. Lee tried to calmly ignore the irritating sensation, hoping that the smallest White Tiger would soon bore of it, and move on to pestering Gary or something. But he had no such luck. So Lee decided to retaliate as best he could, instead. He pushed the small round button on his armrest down and forced his seat-back as far backwards as it would go, impolitely invading the small green haired bladers space.

"Oi! Lee, stop it, man!"

Lee smirked. "Sorry, what was that? Didn't quite catch it over the sound of the engines."

"Dude, move your seat back!" he hissed.

"What?"

"Ughh!" Lee smirked as he heard Kevin groan with annoyance and proceed to pound on the back of the seat. But he didn't mind so much now, not that _he_ was managing to get a laugh at Kevin's expense, too. Well, Lee did nothing but gave as good as he got, both inside the stadium and out.

**–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––**

"Right, that's it. That's my patience, gone. Michael, get up."

"Huh, what? Why _me_? Why not _him_?"

"_Now,_ Michael!"

"Argh, fine then!" Michael got up roughly out of his seat by the window and shoved his was past Rick in the seat next to him, and out into the aisle. When Judy told Rick to move over and sit in Michael's old seat, and she took his, Michael could only guess that _he_ was supposed to take Judy's seat by the window in the row behind. Awkwardly climbing his way over Eddy and Emily (with an irritated 'hey, watch it!' from the science geek when he budged her laptop with his backside) he threw himself down and glared heatedly at the back of Rick's head through the seat.

Rick. If he'd just moved his stupid fat arm off the armrest, then Michael wouldn't have retaliated and Judy wouldn't've split them up like children in front of everyone. _He_ was the captain – so he had dibs on the armrests!

"Eddy, budge over," he said, nudging at his team mate's arm on the armrest beside him with his elbow.

"No, man!" Eddy exclaimed, nudging back.

"Hey, I wanna rest my arm!"

"Dude, I was here first, use your own!"

"No, this one's mine!"

"I'm using it already!"

"Michael! Stop behaving like a child." Judy barked from the row in front.

Michael groaned and slouched down in his seat, utterly bored. He didn't care how long the flight from New York to Denver was (or short, in comparison to the flights everyone else was taking), it was way too long to be stuck in a crowded airplane cabin with absolutely nothing to do but watch old movies or play freaking _battleships_ on the small in-seat television. He'd already written off listening to his iPod, and he'd killed off Angry Birds already – those ugly smirking little green pigs were _dead_. Hell was he going to read a magazine. Michael was a man of action! He wanted something to _do._

"Eddy, play a game with me."

"Okay," said the tall dark-skinned blader, "Truth, or dare?"

"Dare," Michael said, hoping for something good.

"I dare you to sit still and stop bothering me for the rest of the flight."

"Huh, what? Dude no! That's so lame – don't be an ass, man! Give me something good!" Michael shoved Eddy to the side, and Eddy shoved back. Before long, a small scale fight had broke out between the two and Emily was not impressed. "Would you guys quit it already?" Emily called irritatedly from her laptop in the seat next to Eddy. "Geez! Anyone'd think you were like, five or something."

"Hey, don't shout at me," Eddy cried indignantly, "he started it!"

"Well I'm stopping it!" Emily snapped her laptop shut and glared at the two of them. Then, they were interrupted by the little bing of the seat-belt light being switched on, and the captain announced that they were ready to land.

"Finally," Michael cried, throwing his arms up into the air.

Emily rolled her eyes, echoing the exact same sentiment in her head. He was such a pain sometimes! Sure, Michael had no problems sitting down and doing nothing when there was actually something to be done, like training, or test-runs – but force him into a situation where he had to sit down and do nothing and he was suddenly all antsy. She couldn't wait to get off the plane for all of their sakes.

**––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––**

Enrique stepped off the airplane and stopped right in the middle of the walkway, throwing his arms into the air with a huge yawn and an overindulgent stretch. "Well, I don't know about you guys," he said in a long, slow, lazy drawl over his shoulder, "but that was probably the best sleep I've ever had in an airpl – hey!"

He was cut off as Johnny rudely barged past him, making him lose his balance. "_Move_, Enrique, you're in everyone's way."

Enrique's face screwed up with indignation, "Well, '_everyone'_ else managed to walk around me," he said, pointing to Rachel who had just so wonderfully illustrated his point by doing just that, (with a roll of the eyes at his childishness, of course).

"You were in _my_ way." Johnny said grouchily, before stalking off in a very Kai-like manner. Enrique scoffed at his body language. This whole captain thing was getting to his head!

"Do you think you guys could just give it a rest for _two_ minutes?" The brunette called over her shoulder, unimpressed.

The blonde's face fell, "_He_ started it! Don't get short tempered with me just 'cause you're tired, Rachel – you should've slept on the plane!"

"I _can't_ sleep on planes, Enrique! I've already said it about ten times!"

Oliver rolled his eyes. They were absolutely useless without Robert at times like these. His stern but quiet presence often had a calming effect (or subduing, at the very least) at times like this, and one quick look would be enough to stifle the bickering and save it for another time. However, Enrique's childishness, Rachel's petulance and Johnny's impatience and short temper were never a good mix at the best of times without some moderation. Usually, Oliver would try and play the peacemaker (if for nothing else but the sake of the migraine he _knew_ he'd get eventually), but today he just didn't have the energy because _he too_ could not sleep on planes, no matter how comfortable traveling first-class may be. He always assumed it had something to do with the constant hum of the engines or the almost-claustrophobic atmosphere of the airplane cabin, or the stale quality of the air always had no matter how good the ventilation system might be. Regardless, Oliver always liked to travel, but always hated the actual _traveling._

So, the petite green haired blader just sucked it up and endured his team-mates petty bickering all the way down the narrow walkway and into the main airport arrival gate, each of them with their overnight bags strung over their shoulder as they were all expected to spend the night somewhere before making their way to the mountains.

"Excuse me, Johnny McGregor?" Oliver looked up as they all stopped walking and the new captain was addressed by two men who looked like chauffeurs, complete with the little hat and everything.

"Yeah?" Johnny said, eyeing up the two men.

"And, you'll all be the majestics, then?" said the other man, with a quick look and a smile at the team. He was younger than the first and much friendlier looking. Probably a new recruit, Oliver thought slyly. All the experienced chauffeurs he'd ever been driven by were stiff and formal.

"Yes, we are," Enrique said, butting in and side stepping around Johnny for a little attention himself.

"Excellent," said the older male. "I'm Mr Hall, and this is Mr Russel. We've been sent by Mr Dickenson to collect you, and escort you to the meeting point."

"The meeting point?" Johnny asked, with some confusion in his eyes. "Have the plans changed then? Are we meeting with the other teams today?"

"Yes, in a sense," Mr Hall replied evasively, but said nothing more.

"Would you like me to carry your bag, Miss?" said the young blonde Mr Russel to Rachel. However, before she had a chance to answer, Enrique promptly deposited _his_ bag into his outstretched arms. His lazy ears probably stopped listening at the word 'carry.'

The brunette rolled her eyes. Typical. "Um, no, I'm alright, thank you," she said with a smile.

They followed the two chauffeurs around the airport crowds and out of building into the lot where, sure enough, there were two fine Bentleys parked outside waiting for them. The two chauffeurs opened the trunk and packed the teams bags into them, before opening the doors for them to get in. Johnny and Rachel got into the back of one, while Enrique and Oliver went to the other. Before long, the engines were purring, seat belts were buckled and the two cars were driving off, out onto the highway and into the unknown.

* * *

><p><strong><em>AN:_**_ Lol, so yeah, not gonna lie – I had a lot of fun writing this. :) And I'm pretty much like Michael when I'm flying, I literally CANNOT just chill out and do it, I get all ansty 'cause I need something to do D:  
>Hoping for some reviews *hint hint* :)<br>**Next chapter:** Saturday _

_~Indie_


	16. Deja Vu

_**A/N: **Hey guys, Indie here! This chapter's out a little later than I'd intended, but I've had a bit of hectic week. Big thanks to **country-grl20** for reviewing the last chapter, and to **AquilaTempestas** for reviewing the last four. Also, a big thanks to everyone who's faved the story too – I'm glad to see that you're enjoying it. But hey, don't be shy, drop me a review some day if you have the time, it's nice to hear from you! :)_

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Fifteen: Deja Vu<strong>

"ARRGHHH!"

The angry sound of Tyson Kinomiya's shouting echoed all around the clearing, and just to prove how far a reach his lungs actually had, several little birds in a tree some miles away took flight, fleeing from the assault of his violent sound waves.

"How could he DO this to us?" The blader himself was on a rampage, storming around the little clearing by the small mountain roadside, throwing his hands around angrily and glaring stormily down the road every now and then. "I mean, what the hell, man? This is like Europe all over again!"

"Tyson, would you stop pacing already?" Hilary snapped, trying to dog his steps and grab the papers he was crunching up in his hand. "Let me see the letter!"

"Argh, get off, Hilary!" Tyson said, tugging his arm away from her and continuing to pace, dodging her continued attempts and ranting on.

Max just huffed under his breath and plopped himself down onto a fallen log next to Kenny and the bags, lifting his eyes to stare into the tall, green trees before him. Gosh, everything was so _green_. Rei pinched the bridge of his nose trying to keep his cool, while Kai pretty much remained stationary at the side of the road with his back turned on the bickering pair, his arms folded, his eyes narrowed and his jaw set. There was a small vein working in his temple, the only clear sign of his huge irritation.

When they got off the plane at the airport in Denver, there were greeted by a chauffeur with a BBA mini-bus who said he'd been sent by Mr Dickenson to take them to the meeting point. It turns out, Kai recalled with a scowl, that the 'meeting point' was in fact this small clearing at the edge of the woods in the mountains, just off the tiny mountain road, far away from civilisation. The driver just randomly stopped the bus, announcing that it had broken down. When they'd all gotten out of the car with their things the driver wound down the window, called Tyson over, handed him an envelope, started the engine again and drove away. Just like that. After a few minutes of dumbfounded staring after the bus, Tyson opened the letter and read it.

And that's when the shouting started.

Kai wasn't really sure what Tyson thought his shouting would achieve – other than a black eye if he continued to assault his eardrums for much longer.

Quietly, Kai assessed the facts of the situation. First; they were all stranded here, up in the mountains, with barely any food or water besides what the driver suggested they should buy from the airport for the journey. Second; there was no way to contact the BBA and ask them what the hell the game was with their drivers – Kai had already tried and every line was conveniently busy. Third; Tyson (and Kai was loath to say it) was _right_ – this situation really did stink a whole lot like Europe two years ago. And so that meant that, fourth; Kai needed to get his hands on that letter to figure out just exactly what they should all do next.

"Tyson," Kai said in a clipped tone, spinning on his heel and striding over to the centre of the clearing where Hilary was still trying to wrestle Tyson for the letter. Holding his hand out to them, he said, "Hand it over."

Hilary huffed her breath into her fringe in annoyance at not being able to see the letter with her own nosy eyes as Tyson handed the papers over to their captain. After smoothing out the creases against his thigh, Kai walked a few paces away from the pair and, ignoring Rei who had just come to stand behind him, he scanned the contents with his own eyes, scowling.

_The Bladebreakers,_

_I assume you're probably wondering what exactly you're all doing out here in the woods – so I shall get straight to the point. _

_I had mentioned in the previous letter that a training retreat, spanning the course of two weeks, has been scheduled to take place in these mountains. As it happens, your first task begins now. Several miles away, a camp-site has been set up where you will find provisions for you to stay the night and a letter detailing your instructions for your task tomorrow. Its location has been marked on the map provided. _

_Do try to make it there before nightfall. _

_Best of luck,_

_Mr D._

"Here," he said gruffly, handing the letter over to his Chinese team mate, before turning to the other piece of paper in his hands. It was indeed a map of the mountain-side forest they were in, complete with contour lines, landmarks, footpaths, etc. Kai smirked wryly at it – Dickenson had very kindly marked their current location and their destination on the map, each with a bold red letter 'x'. A meandering dotted line joined the two.

"So," Rei said, peering down at the map in Kai's hands as the dual haired captain began turning on the spot and glancing side to side, trying to get oriented with it, "we're following the trail, then?"

Kai glanced sideways at him. "Guess so."

He sighed and ran a tired hand through his messy hair. He really didn't have the patience to be playing that old man's foolish games today – after fifteen hours of air travel with his boisterous team, Kai was not at his most patient or understanding. Hell, he was _never_ at his most patient or understanding. However, throwing a tantrum wasn't going to get them to the safe point before nightfall – presuming it even _was_ safe from all the bears that Kai was sure were roaming around. Rolling out the muscles in his shoulders and deciding that he'd somehow take his frustration out on Tyson along the way, Kai turned around to face the rest of his team and spoke.

"Alright, listen up. Looks like Dickenson thinks he's got a sense of humour," he said condescendingly, clearly unamused. Perhaps the man was going senile in his old age? "Apparently, the training retreat he mentioned starts _now_. We've gotta make it to some camp-site before nightfall. So," he said, ignoring Tyson's groan and Kenny's concerned questions. Turning on the spot and beginning to walk towards the trees, he said "everyone grab your crap and lets get mov –"

"Hey hey hey, wait there just a second," Hilary interrupted, squaring her shoulders and placing her hands on her hips, "what do you mean – we're not just going straight out into the woods with no idea where we're going, are we?" There was an unmistakable trace of panic in her voice.

Kai rolled his eyes before turning to face her. Wiggling the paper between his fingers, he said, "We have a map."

"So, what, we're just walking?" she cried, with an edge of hysteria creeping in, looking over to Max, who just shrugged apologetically and shouldered his rucksack.

"Geez, Hil, chill out," Tyson said, "it's gonna –"

"_Chill OUT?" _Hilary screeched, "Just two minutes ago you were shouting and freaking out yourself!"

"I wasn't freaking out, I was just pissed off! But I'm over it now," he said indignantly, before shrugging and picking up his bag, too. "Still not happy about it, though…"

Hilary blinked. Why on earth were they all being so cool about it? "Just who does Mr Dickenson think he is, anyway?" she interrogated, not moving from the spot she was stood in. "Abandoning us all out here– how could he be so irresponsible!"

"I agree. At least in Europe we could always drop in on the BBA centers for help – we're all on our own out here, and Dizzi can't get a hold of anyone!" Kenny was clearly as unimpressed with the situation as Hilary. He _hated_ camping and trekking and anything else that involved the 'great' (more like, harsh, Kenny thought) outdoors.

Hilary made a despairing noise, which Tyson laughed at and Kai rolled his eyes at.

"Come on, Hil, it'll be fine," Max said consolingly, walking over to her and placing a hand on her shoulder. "Dickenson wouldn't just leave us all here if it wasn't safe. Besides, he's probably got it all planned – it's not like he hasn't done this before. But don't worry, we won't let anything happen to you!" He offered her a wide smile to try and calm her down.

"I don't wanna be the one to cut this fuzzy little moment short," Kai interrupted, folding his arms, "but if we don't get moving _now_ we probably won't make it there before it gets dark."

"Huh? How far do we have to go?" Hilary asked.

"Looks about six miles, maybe seven."

"What?" Hilary screeched. Then she shrugged Max's hand off her shoulder, picked up her own bag and began to stride commandingly over to Kai on the other side of the clearing. "Well what the hell are we waiting for, then?" She took Kai by the shoulders, spun him around and gave him a gentle shove into the trees. "Let's get moving, guys, we don't have all day!" she ordered.

Tyson and Max exchanged mystified expressions, before shrugging it off and laughing to themselves. Girls – go figure.

Rei brought up the rear and made sure nothing was left behind as they trailed into the woods, hoping that Kai's map reading skills hadn't lessened any since the time they all spent in Russia.

–––––––––––––––––––––––

"This is fucking ridiculous."

"I know. I'd even say it's as ridiculous as your face."

"Hm, wonder if it's as ridiculous as _my_ fist in _your_ face?"

"Ha! That _would_ be ridiculous – it wouldn't even happen!" Ian dared, with mischief in his eyes.

"Don't push me, you little runt!" Bryan growled, clutching his fist hard around the letter as his irritation rose.

"Hey, knock it off!" Tala snapped, staring them both down with cold blue eyes. "Acting like fucking children, the pair of you." Bryan cussed under his breath while Ian snickered. Tala rolled his eyes and snatched the note and the map away from Bryan. As hilarious as this situation _might_ have been, he wasn't in the mood to be playing games with the old man. He was tired, dammit! "No luck, then?" he said, addressing Bryan who was trying to make contact with the BBA on his cell phone.

"All the lines are busy."

"Figures," Tala said, but more to himself than anyone else. "Okay, everyone shut up, I need to concentrate." Tala plopped himself down on to an old tree stump and stared off vacantly into the distance as he tried to access the chip Boris planted in his brain.

It was a really fucking weird sensation – like having two minds, almost. There was his normal one, and then there was this 'computer mind' where everything he saw was written in a kind of visual computer code. It was an ingenious piece of technology, if he was honest. This small, wireless chip in his brain pretty much allowed him to run like a master computer – the chip was the circuitry and _he_ was (to follow the metaphor through) the machinery. With it, Tala could access pretty much any piece of technology linked by satellite; he could make phone calls, send emails and texts, use the internet, get into CCTV devices, hack into various government databases, get satellite readings and locations – you name it, chances were Tala could probably do it.

However, it also gave him one hell of a headache afterwards, so he generally preferred not to take advantage of it. But Dickenson had just about pissed him off with this little joke of his and he wasn't about to sit back and follow his little trail of breadcrumbs through the mountains like some weird-ass new-age fairy-tale without giving the old man a piece of his mind.

Narrowing the virtual map inside his mind down, Tala began to search through all the nearby computer addresses for ones belonging to the BBA only. Then, he narrowed it down again to the ones with the heaviest security, until finally he located the laptop belonging to Mr Dickenson. A quick GPS scan revealed that the old man was somewhere in these mountains himself, less than twenty miles away. Perhaps a mountain lodge, then.

Narrowing his eyes, Tala concentrated and began to hack his way through Mr D's complex defenses and firewalls and into the main frame. Successfully completing that, he mentally smirked as he gained complete control over the entire device. With absolutely no ceremony whatsoever, Tala shut down all the running programmes so all that was left was a blank screen on Mr D's monitor. He snickered in his mind as he saw Dickenson's expression of shock and confusion through the little inbuilt camera as the screen went blank, and the old man tried pressing a few buttons randomly on the keyboard to wake the laptop up.

Tala decided to play with him for a bit. Concentrating on what he wanted to say in his mind, he sent through the following words and formed them on the screen:

– _Hello there, Stanley –_

Mr Dickenson's eyes bulged with shock as he mumbled, "What? Wh - what's going on?"

– _Tut, tut. Abandoning a bunch of kids in the mountains like this... a little reckless, don't you think? A little risky, perhaps? –_

"Who, who are you, what do you want?"

– _Just an old friend –_

Dickenson blinked, as if trying to figure out just how many 'old friends' he had that could so easily hack through his security like that. But there weren't any. Then he blinked again, as if hit by a sudden horrible realization. "...Barthez?"

It was Tala's turn to blink with confusion. The name sounded slightly familiar, but he couldn't place it. Barthez…who the hell is Barthez? Then he cringed slightly as he felt his thoughts appear on the screen before Dickenson. Damn, he'd really have to get a hang of separating his thoughts from his intentions… But then he'd need like, a third mind or something, and he wasn't sure even _he_ could keep track of _that._

– _Barthez...who the hell is Barthez? –_

"Not, not Barthez? Then just who is this?"

Tala rolled his eyes. _– It's Tala. What are you playing at Dickenson, just leaving us out here? –_

"Tala…? How on earth are you managing this, my boy? …The chip?"

– _I'm not your boy. And that's not important, either – just what's the deal here? –_

"...This is really quite something, Tala. Are you still in the woods, and _contacting_ _me_? How remarkable…." His face had taken on a more curious, even admiring expression now and Tala kicked himself. Well, clearly he's lost the surprise and intimidation factor, now.

– _Look, could you just tell me what sort of game you think this is? –_

Dickenson smiled knowingly. "Well, everything has been explained in the letter, Tala. You're a smart young man, I'm sure you can figure it out."

What the… Tala bristled. Was Dickenson _patronizing_ him? Oh, hell no.

– _My team and I are not interested in playing these childish little games –_

"Well, I'm afraid you should be, Tala, if you want to make it to the safe point before nightfall. It becomes rather difficult to follow a map, you see, in the dark." Dickenson was unable to keep the chuckle out of his voice. "Don't worry, the other seven teams are also in these woods and have exactly the same task. Perhaps you'll meet them along the way." Then he stood up and walked right out of Tala's vision, so he was left staring at an empty office chair. But he heard the old man's voice call cheerfully, "Oh, and if you could vacate yourself from my laptop by the time I return, I would be very grateful."

Tala was left to stare at the empty seat in annoyance. He'd just been smiled at and shuffled to the side like he was a small child trying to be threatening – and after such a display as well! Tala wasn't quite sure what to make of it. Had he… had he lost his edge? Surely not. No, it had to be that the old man was just becoming a little senile in his latter years, or just wasn't as on the ball as he might have been in his youth.

Hell, Tala had just hacked his way through the director of the BBA's computer, from his _fucking_ _mind,_ and found it no more difficult than opening a door with his hands. That was bloody impressive stuff, thank you very much.

With his pride restored, Tala left the laptop and returned his consciousness to his real body in the woods, where he was greeted by the horrifying sight of Ian and Bryan right up in his face.

"Fuck!" Tala recoiled and fell backwards off the log, landing roughly on his back and letting him know that he'd fully returned to his senses in the physical world. His head gave a single, almighty throb. "What the hell, guys?"

Bryan and Ian straightened up, snickering cruelly. Ian dropped the mud covered twigs he was holding and brushed the dirt off his hands before saying to Bryan, "See? I told you, he like, totally blanks out – doesn't have a clue what's going on around him!"

Tala straightened up as Bryan smirked, saying, "Tal, you're lucky we're just your friends – _anyone_ could have done _anything_ to you while you were gone."

Narrowing icy blue eyes in suspicion, Tala picked himself up of the floor and glared at them. Over their shoulders, he saw Spencer leaning against the trunk of a tree with his arms folded and a slightly disinterested expression on his face. However the highly amused smirk, along with the way he was unwilling to meet Tala's eye, only made the red haired captain even more suspicious. "Okay, so just what the fuck have you two been doing?"

"Nothin'!" Ian exclaimed, holding his hands up in front of him like an innocent man held at gunpoint. "Why, what've _you_ been doing – watching porn while we've all been standing around or something? It's rude not to share, y'know."

Tala aimed a half-assed slap towards the back of Ian's head, which he ducked, before answering. "I've been chatting with Dickenson, actually."

"Oh, you get anywhere then?" Bryan asked, slightly unable to mask the amusement in his eyes.

"Not at all. So I suppose we'd just better get a move on and… alright, what the fuck are you all laughing at? Spence," he said sharply, turning to the blonde as Ian and Bryan started snickering under their breaths again, "what have they done?"

The blonde composedly opened his mouth to speak, but then he looked away smirking and let out a chuckle himself. Pissed off and confused to no end, Tala pulled out his cell phone and tried to hold it away from the light so he could see his reflection in it, guessing there was probably something on his face.

There was.

Apparently, during his time away Ian and Bryan had thought it would be a good idea to take some mud and draw Tala some war-paint. Only, this 'war paint' was actually the outline of a giant crude _penis_ on his face.

Feeling his brain give one more huge throb, he slowly turned around to the couple of pranksters and gave them what he hoped was a very threatening look promising much pain and despair, before snatching away the map from Spencer and beginning to make his way further into the woods, following the trail Dickenson had marked and ignoring the sniggers that trailed behind him.

Oh, he thought, you just _wait_ until you go to sleep tonight.

–––––––––––––––––––––––

It was sometime in the evening and the tops of the tall, slim, green firs where dipped in golden light with the beginning of sunset. There was a warm, amber glow to the west, while the east was still fringed with pale blue. It was beautiful, Oliver thought. All he wanted to do was put aside a stool and an easel, and paint this scene of beauty.

Or, at least, he _would_ have if he wasn't so _tired_ and his feet didn't hurt so much.

"Guys," Oliver asked weakly, "do you think we're we almost there?"

"No, we're lost, we might as well just admit it already..." Enrique mourned from behind.

"For the last time, Enrique, we ain't lost!" Johnny growled from the front of the group, but then he stopped and consulted the map nervously a little nervously again.

"I'm sure we're almost there, Oliver," Rachel said, trying to peer at the map as well as if it might somehow have scrawled an answer on itself to ease their concerns.

It wasn't that they didn't know how to read a map – Johnny was rough and very outdoorsy, and had been that way ever since he was a small boy, so he just had a knack for this sort of thing. Rachel had spent the past couple of years traveling parts of Europe and Asia, so she was familiar with map-reading and orientation herself, although perhaps not so much as Johnny. She was better at navigating cities and cultural or historic sites, where Johnny was pretty much an alpha-male Scot and was a natural at anything that involved the 'great outdoors'.

"If I get mauled and eaten by a bear tonight," Enrique said miserably as he caught up with them, "I'm going to come back as a ghost and haunt Dickenson for the rest of his life."

Johnny rolled his eyes, and Oliver chuckled lightly at his best friend as they all came to a standstill and gathered around the map; The little French blader might be exhausted, but he hadn't _quite_ given in to melodramatics yet. He'd leave that to Enrique – the blonde did it so well!

"Hey, look at that," Rachel said suddenly, pointing to a spot on the map. Johnny squinted his eyes at it. "There, right next to the 'x' – where the contour lines are really close together. You don't suppose that could be a cliff face or something, do you?" she asked, lifting her dark olive eyes to him.

"Yeah...could be."

"Well, it runs all along the side here, you see?" She traced her finger along it as she spoke. "If we just keep our eyes open for that, we should be able to tell if we're on the right track, right?"

Johnny chewed his lip, before pulling out his cell phone and checking the compass app on it again for what must have been the twentieth time. Finding north, he oriented himself with the map and then stared off to the right, as if he was half expecting the cliff-face to suddenly reveal itself now that it knew the game was up. But it didn't.

"Hey…" Enrique said, squinting at the map and all but pressing into it with his little nose. "Look at that…" He pointed to a portion of the map not too far from the big 'x' where they were headed, and quite nearby the cliff face too. "What's that?"

Johnny glanced at it briefly, the shrugged it off. "Nothin'... just looks like a thin patch of trees or something."

"It's kinda like a half-moon shape, don't you think?"

Johnny, Rachel and Oliver all pulled their eyes off the map and looked at the Italian a little wearily. "'Rique… are you feeling alright?" the brunette hedged a little apprehensively. God, he wasn't losing his mind already was he?

Enrique's face crumpled a little with indignation. "Hey, don't look at me like that, I'm fine! It's just, look around," he said, gesturing outwards with his hands. "Can't you see? I think we're there – here!"

Johnny looked around himself, puzzled. And then his eyes widened slightly as he realised that Enrique was _actually_ right for once – at least, that's what it looked like anyway. They were definitely in an area of trees that were a lot thinner in comparison to the ones they were tramping through around half an hour ago. And, he couldn't be sure, but about twenty feet away where the trees began to thicken, he was sure they did so in a definite curve.

"Oh my word, Enri, I think you're right!" Oliver said, clapping his hands happily.

Rachel laughed and nudged the blonde in the ribs with her elbow, smirking. "Looks like you're not just a pretty face, after all."

"Heh, well, I won't argue with that," Enrique said with a smug wiggle of the eyebrows.

"Tch, I would," Johnny smirked, but his eyes said otherwise. Enrique might act like an idiot, but did have smarts and you could rely on him to use them when the occasion called for it – mostly.

"Well, come on then," the blonde said, nonchalantly ushering the rest of the team on towards the trees, "it's getting dark and, I know you all think I was joking, but I'd actually really rather _not_ be eaten by a bear!"

"I really don't think you've got anything to worry about," Rachel jibed, "I'm sure bears like something with a little more meat on them, anyhow."

"Yeah, you're right. I'll be fine. Now, Johnny, on the other hand…"

"I'm not meaty – it's _muscle_! Something I wouldn't expect _either_ _of_ _you_ to know anything about!"

Oliver shook his head good naturedly as he listened to the light hearted bickering of his friends, but kept a keen eye out for anything that might look like a 'cliff face' or some sort of camp site. He was a little worried, because the light was disappearing behind the mountains fast – but they were surely very close, by now.

"Hey…" Oliver called out after about ten minutes of walking in the soft glow of twilight, "what's that, there?"

"It… it looks a bit like a log cabin," Rachel said faintly, squinting at it in the poor light.

"It _is_ a log cabin!" Enrique called excitedly. "Ha! I knew_ we'd _find it! I told you we weren't lost!" The blonde began trotting hurriedly towards it, leaving the others in his dust.

"What? Enri, you were moaning about us being lost the entire time!" Oliver shook his head as he called out to him.

"Well, come on then," Johnny said gruffly, rolling up the map. "What are we waiting for?" The three began to stride towards the small log cabin after Enrique, incredibly grateful to be able to rest their tired legs for the night.

"Woah, hey guys," called the blonde from the side of the cabin as they drew nearer, "I think I've found the cliff, too…"

"Huh, where…?" Rachel asked, walking over to him interestedly. Johnny and Oliver just walked inside the cabin, all to eager to put down their bags and see what the cabin had to offer.

"Down there, see?" Enrique said, pointing.

As Rachel drew near, she began to see what the blonde meant. They weren't at the bottom of the cliff at all – they were on top.

Peering carefully over the edge, she was taken over by that same strange urge she'd always had since she was a child and was confronted by a height – to try and lean as far over as she could, just for the hell of it. She use to lean over the railings of bridges and balconies all the time, daring her brother to see if he could go farther and scaring Ellen, their nanny, half to death. She used to smirk smugly at her brother when he was too scared to do it, and smile impertinently at Ellen when she tried to berate her for being reckless and strong willed.

Enrique grabbed her by the elbow and gave it a shook. "Whoa!" he shouted, startling her, "saved your life!"

"Urgh, Enrique!" she cried, stepping away from the edge and swatting him on the arm, glaring, "that's not funny!"

The blonde chortled at her as he strode lazily around to the front of the cabin. "Hey, I wonder if they have like, a mini fridge in there or something…"

The brunette rolled her eyes. "Somehow, Enrique, I really doubt it…"

* * *

><p><strong><em>AN: _**_Well, isn't Mr Dickenson a sneaky one? Really now, carting everybody off into the woods and leaving them with a little map? He's really pushing his luck, I think. :) Just incase anyone wants to know what its like in the mountains in colorado, well then, yeahh, google it. xD Type 'forest mountains colorado' for the closest idea to what I'm imagining.  
>So, we know the Majestics have made it to their 'camp site' in time. But what about the others – the White Tigers, All Starz? What about the other teams I haven't introduced yet? Stay tuned in for the next chapter and you'll find out. ;)<br>__**Next chapter:** Saturday_

_~Indie_


	17. Lightening

_**A/N:** What is this? Is it... is it an update?  
><em>

_I kid you not people, this is an actual update. And what else can I say but sorry, sorry, sorry for the very long and completely unannounced hiatus. I've had exams, and after that came the writer's block of epic proportions. We're talking huge. Like, The Cube in Transformers huge. But not when it's nice and small and in travel-mode so Sam can run around LA with it – we're talking freaking space-mode huge here.  
><em>

_But I have arose, victorious! 8D  
>And now here I am with this chapter. I wanna thank everyone who's read this story so far, and had favedsubscribed to it even in my absence, means a lot. :') And as always, thanks to the reviewers of the last chapter,** coutry-grl20**, **AquilaTempestas** and **some stuff**.  
><em>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Sixteen: Lightening<strong>

Emily shuffled around as the noise outside her sleeping bag lifted her senses out of the thick fog of sleep. Then her eyes snapped open and she stiffened as she heard the sound again.

At first she thought it was only heavy breathing, that it was maybe one of the boys still fast asleep. But it was too heavy. Then she realized that they were sleeping out in an open camp – there was no tent or anything when they reached their 'safe point', only sleeping bags and food supplies, so they just improvised their own shelter around the fire pit and relied on the trees for cover. And they were up in the forest mountains of Colorado, where there were surely mountain dogs or wolves or – Emily's breath hitched in her throat. Oh my God.

What if it was a bear? What if that thing breathing outside was a bear?

Straining her ears, she tried a little harder to hear outside her sleeping bag to her team members, but for all she could tell, it was silent – only the crackling embers of last night's fire and the mysterious breathing some meters away could be heard.

Was her team okay?

It didn't sound like the heavy breathing was too close to her so, with her heart pounding in her throat, Emily risked shuffling over onto her stomach and unzipping the bag, just wide enough to peek through. It was a good thing, she thought, that she hated sleeping with her head exposed, because her bright orange hair would've made her an easy target.

...But Michael's blonde hair, (recently dyed for the tournament, he couldn't have his roots showing, after all) was also a bright colour. Not to mention Eddy's too (he'd dyed it after losing a bet to Michael), and Rick's white hair – oh my God, they were all easy targets! What was Dickenson _thinking_, Emily thought venomously, not giving them any sort of real shelter! He might as well have just put up a big, neon sign saying, 'good morning forest wildlife, get your breakfast buffet here!'

She paused for another moment to make sure it was safe and then brought her sharp blue eyes to the opening of the bag. The first thing she saw was the smoke from the dying fire pit and the big steel water pot turned over on its side. Turning her eyes to her right, it was all she could do not to let out a desperate squeal as she saw that Michael's sleeping bag was open and he wasn't in it.

But there … there could be all sorts of explanations for that, right? He could be down by the stream taking a wash or practicing some blading moves before the team woke up. Her fuzzy morning brain must be playing tricks on her. There was obviously some rational explanation for her captain's absence – and this cool rationality had just about calmed Emily down some, until whatever it was that was breathing let out a grunt and her fearful, paranoid ears told her that it was not a grunt but a growl, a very hungry growl.

Quickly, she scanned their little camp for signs or Eddy or Rick, but she couldn't see them either. Panic started to set in as whatever it was that was breathing gave another grunt–growl. Instinct told her that she had to get out of here, and fast. But she had to find her team first – they just _had_ to be around somewhere, and safe! She risked calling out to them, just to see if they were nearby and hiding, just like her.

"...Guys?" she hissed, and paused to listen for an answer or if there was any change to the sound of the breathing. There wasn't any of either. "Dammit, where _are_ they?"

Slowly, carefully, Emily unzipped and sleeping bag the whole way and, once she was sure she hadn't been noticed, eased her way out, twisting her head around to the left and right to make sure she was safe. Getting to her feet, she shuffled silently over to her back-pack and pulled out her beyblade and launcher, hoping that if there really was a pack of wolves or a bear, she might be able to defend herself with Trygator, or at least buy some time to climb a tree and escape or something.

She winced, remembering the last time she tried climbing a tree – she still had the scar on her calf for her efforts.

Her eyes widened as her gaze lighted on something on the ground – a dirt trail leading from where she was sure Rick's sleeping bag was last night, disappearing into the trees. Trying to ignore the fact that it looked like he'd been dragged off into the forest, she swallowed, steeled up her nerve and followed the trail, knowing that right now it was her best bet of finding one at least one of her team members, even if it was only that stupid Rick Anderson.

_But what was she doing?_ Emily thought of all the countless movies she'd seen with Michael and the guys on their days off, where the stupid girl always died first because she went off to investigate the strange noises. But when she heard some leaves rustle and a twig crack behind her, she quickly decided that going forward and following the mysterious trail was definitely the way to go.

Not twenty feet down the way, she became certain that the breathing was getting louder, but she couldn't see anything big enough to be a bear so she kept going forward, her blade positioned in front of her and ready to launch, just in case. The sound growled again but, closer up, she realized it didn't sound so much like a growl as it did a … a _snore._

"...Hello?" she called out gently, hoping for a reply. But no such luck. So, with her eyebrows furrowed in slight confusion, she pressed forward and kept her eyes sharp as she scanned the trees and undergrowth. But not sharp enough, apparently, as the toe of her tennis shoes caught something large and caused her to loose her footing and stumble. "Eep–!" she cried, knees hitting the ground sharply, but then she slapped a hand over her mouth and held her breath when the crack of another twig behind her told her that _something_ was there.

Spinning around, Emily was greeted with the sight of nothing but rustling bushes. She glanced down to see what she had tripped over and squinted with confusion in her eyes when all she saw was something that looked like a large, squishy green sausage with an unruly white tuft poking out of the top. Wait a second….

"...Rick?"

At the echoing crack of another twig, all rationality was swept away from her head – she was _sure_ there was something in those bushes and she _had_ to get herself and Rick out of here as soon as possible. She did _not_ want to be around when that bear or whatever it was came to finish whatever they were doing with Rick out here.

"Rick!" she hissed, trying to shake him awake. But the brute slept like a log! She shook faster as some bushes behind her began rustling a little harder. "Rick! Wake up, you stupid lump, we've gotta get out of here!"

She could've cursed creatively enough to make Michael and Steve proud when all the white headed blader did was grunt-growl in his sleep and roll over inside the sleeping bag. Well, at least she knew where the breathing and the growling came from. But those cracking twigs, and all the rustling, there was definitely some kind of animal out there and – Emily lifted her launcher and stared off to the right, backing away slowly. It was _there, _she was sure of it.

"Emily… what are you –?"

"– Waaahhhhh!" she shrieked, having just backed into something much bigger than her. She spun around wildly and launched her beyblade as a knee–jerk reaction, screaming as she backed away. It was only when she saw her gangly team-mate Eddy duck the aqua blade with an incredulous yell that she realized that there wasn't an animal in the bushes after all. "Eddy!" she cried hysterically, "What the hell are you doing?"

"What am _I_ doing?" Eddy countered, still crouching down and shielding his head with his arms, looking at Emily as though she'd lost her mind. "What are _you _doing? You just launched your beyblade at me!" He said, his dark eyes twitching over to look at the damage she had done to the tree behind him, where his head had been just moments before. There was a giant ugly tear from where her beyblade had hit it before ricocheting off to a tree behind her and getting wedged the third one. It was still smoking.

"I thought you were a bear!" she cried.

"You thought I was a _what_?"

"A bear!" Emily threw her little hands into the air in frustration. "I woke up and I heard lots of noises and I was alone and –" Emily was so zoned in to her ranting that she didn't notice Eddy's eyes drift warily off her face and come to rest at a point just over her shoulder. She also missed the little warning shake of his head. "… and just _what_ _were you doing sneaking around out here anywa_ –"

"RROOAAGHHH!"

"AAHHHHHH!" Emily jumped about a foot in the air and screamed at the top of her lungs, completely startled by the loud roar behind her. Spinning around wildly, she realized that what had roared behind her was in fact her bed-headed blonde captain, and not a bear or a wolf or any other wild animal. She had about a split second to watch a wicked grin creep over his face as he broke out into a laugh before her flailing arms caught him around the face, backhanding him spectacularly.

"Aharghhbf! My _nose!"_ Michael yelled, stumbling backwards and falling over Rick in the sleeping bag, landing roughly on his backside.

"Michael?" Emily yelled, her eyes halfway between fear and anger. "What the _hell are you doing!_"

"Ugh, you… I think you broke my nose!"

"Well – well good!" Emily spluttered, "You scared the hell out of me!"

"Ohghbfl, whazoin'on?" Rick mumbled disorientedly from the sleeping bag, having just been woken up by Michael's clumsy feet. "What'm I doin' here? What…" he looked around at Michael and burst out laughing. The All Starz captain had just picked himself off the ground and was trying to staunch a nosebleed, wincing pathetically. "Hahaha, what happened to _you, _pretty boy_?"_

"Hah, shut up, would'ya?" Michael said, gingerly poking at the bridge of his poor, cruelly mistreated nose. But any pangs of guilt Emily would've felt disappeared when he muttered something containing the words 'backfire' and 'prank'.

Eddy sighed and rolled his eyes good-naturedly at Michael's fumbled explanations about how he wasn't trying to prank _her_ but the idiot in the sleeping bag, Rick's ensuing argument with him over it, and Emily's ranting over the pair of them. As funny as it was, it was also pretty embarrassing. After all, from the information pack they found along with the camping materials at their current safe point, they did have another eight or nine mile hike to the next one – and he was pretty sure the captains of the other teams were making a better use of their morning than playing pranks on each other.

**––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––**

"Dammit Tala, get me down already!"

"You know... I _still_ don't think I heard a 'please' in there."

"And you ain't gettin' one, either!"

"Or a 'sorry' for that matter."

"Hhgnn, fuck you!"

"Ha, well, I've had better offers, but –"

"Just shut up and get me – ah! _Stop fucking throwing rocks at me, Bryan!"_ Ian yelled.

"You gonna come down here and make me?" Bryan goaded with his grey eyes sparkling cruelly, aiming another pebble at the smallest Blitzkrieg Boy, which he just narrowly managed to duck.

"Argh, you know what, fuck the both of you," Ian spat irritably. Then he turned imploringly to Spencer who was maturely packing up the last of the camping gear and whined, "Pleeease Spence, get me outta this tree, would ya?" Then he huffed accusingly down at Tala and Bryan as they snickered at his change in tone.

When Ian woke up this morning, he thought nothing much was going to happen. He'd go down to the stream for a wash and a piss, argue with the rest of his team over the remaining energy bars for breakfast and then probably lose said argument. Maybe he'd manage to rig up Bryan's sleeping bag before he woke up; tie the zips up so he couldn't get out, and get a few cheap laughs before running for his life.

Instead he woke up about thirty feet in the air, tied to a tree, balanced precariously on one of the branches while a tiny brown speckled bird perched on his nose and poked through his hair. After his disbelieving yells had subsided, Tala emerged from the tent with his bright red hair ruffled all over the place and a smug grin plastered around his face. Needless to say, it didn't take Ian long to figure out just who was responsible for his current predicament.

He was wrapped snugly into his sleeping bag and tied very securely to the tree with a length of climbing rope. He managed to wiggle his arms free, but he couldn't see or feel the knot anywhere, so it was hardly like he could get himself down.

…..Seems like Tala wasn't joking about getting revenge for his little joke yesterday. So, almost an hour later he was still up there and absolutely no closer to being let down.

"Seriously, Tala, just cut me down," Ian begged. "I gotta take a leak, man!"

In reply, the Blitzkrieg captain just ran fingers through his wild hair, apparently trying, once again, to tame it a little. It still wasn't working. Thoroughly ignoring Ian, he turned to Bryan and said, "Bry, help Spencer with the last tent. I want us to be packed up and moving as soon as we can." Ian winced as Bryan did so, but not before aiming one last stone at him. The bastard. "Ian," Tala said sharply.

"Oh, so you're talking to me now are y – ahh, hey man!" he yelled, wide eyed as Tala's small tactical folding knife whizzed through the air and wedged itself in the bark just a couple inches left of his face. Had he lost his _mind?_ And how the hell did he get it through the airport security, anyway? "Watch it before you throw that thing at me! You could'a taken an eye out!" he snapped, waving his arms around madly. "I need these eyes!"

"Just cut yourself down and lets get moving," Tala barked up the tree, folding his arms and getting his captain voice on.

"Pah," Ian muttered to himself as he twisted around to grab the knife and began to cut through the rope, "a little warning next time'd be nice." Unravelling it, he looped it securely over the branch, wiggled out of his sleeping bag and tossed it down the tree, aiming for Tala's head. He missed. Then he swung his legs over the side, grabbed the rope, tied himself a quick slip knot around the branch and slid down, jumping the last five or six feet. When he saw Tala advance a step towards him, Ian backed away. "Argh, alright, jeez! I'm sorry for drawing a dick on your face, okay? But I _really_ gotta to take a piss!"

Dropping Tala's knife on the ground, Ian disappeared a few feet into the bushes to relieve himself, and as the sound of his captain's arrogant victory chuckle disappeared he was already formulating possible pranking retaliation plans.

Returning to camp, he found Tala already debriefing the group on the route they'd be taking to the next point. "… and apparently, we should be meeting up with another team somewhere along the way, so lets try and be, uhh… _nice."_

"Pahaha, fat chance of that happening," Ian snickered, "you going soft on us, Tal? I thought we were gonna strut in an' show the competition who the top dogs are."

"We are," Tala said shortly, folding his arms and closing his eyes. "But what we're _not_ going to do is strut in, antagonize everyone and make a bunch of enemies. We're not pawns anymore. This," he said, opening his eyes and leveling a stare at Ian, "is a friendly competition. So we will be nice." Then he smirked, "but not _too_ nice. We've got an image to keep after all. Right, let's move out!"

Ian snapped out a salute and an 'aye-aye sir' before hitching up his rusk sack, his trousers, and following the team.

They didn't have an easy journey, though. Apparently, Tala didn't see fit to stick to the trail marked out for them this time – he intended to cut straight through a great section of it and save half the distance. Unfortunately, this meant trudging through weeds and undergrowth, which took almost twice as long anyway, so it didn't save them anything. It just took twice the effort. Stupid Tala.

"So," Ian began, tired of fighting his way through tree roots in silence, "what'ya think we'll be doing at this training thing?"

"Something useless, I'm sure," Bryan replied.

"Yeah, it's not like we need it. We could'a just turned up at the tournament in two weeks and still beat everyone," Ian moaned.

"Exactly," Bryan agreed.

"I think it could have its uses," Spencer said quietly.

"Hhn?" Ian blinked. "But it's a waste of time!"

"No," Tala said without turning back to them, sidestepping through the dense patch of trees they were in. "Spencer's right. It'll give us the chance to study our opponents and catch on to their weaknesses. We don't know everyone in this tournament, and besides, there are a couple of new teams entered too, apparently."

"Huh, I guess so," Ian grunted. He would've said more, but he tripped over a particularly twisted tree root and only just caught himself. Stupid Tala, taking them off the track.

"So, like Spencer said," Tala continued, "we'll just have to make the most of this waste of time."

From the corner of his eye, Ian caught Bryan smirking. "What's so funny?"

"He's just concerned about Tyson," Bryan jibed.

Tala prickled. Finally turning around, he said, "Don't be stupid Bryan, how could I be afraid of a rookie like Tyson?"

"I didn't say you were afraid, just concerned," he replied off-handly. Then he muttered down to Ian, smirking, "Kai says he's gotten stronger."

"Kai _says_ that he's 'not bad'," Tala corrected stiffly.

"Which we all know that, in Kai-speak, means he must have had his ass kicked by him at some point, or something close enough."

"Bryan," Tala said, "we all know that Kai's the one with the inferiority complex when it comes to Tyson, not me. I won't deny he's got spirit, but I'm the better blader. He only won that last round because everyone's bit-beasts and their long-lost aunt decided to gang up on me and take me down." He was quiet for a few minutes, before saying thoughtfully, "Besides, I don't regret losing that match, anyway."

Ian could feel the atmosphere getting serious. Ian didn't like complex emotions – never did – he just didn't know how to cope with them. So, he cleared his throat to remove the tension. "But that won't be happenin' again right?"

"Of course not," Tala said, flicking his hair, his casual arrogance now back in place, "you now what they say about lightening. Kinomiya's luck won't be striking me twice, mark my words."

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><p><em><strong>AN:** Ooh, I do love Tala. :3 And I hope Michael's nose will be okay D': Although, he might be able to pull off the broken nose look, you never know. xD  
>I hope I haven't kept you all waiting too long. xD This chapter's only half of what I had planned, but it all just got out of hand so I had to split it into two chapters, I didn't want TL;DR everyone. : Still the good news is that there will at least definitely be an update this Saturday, and I have every intention of resuming normal Saturday updates from here out.  
><em>_**Next Chapter:** Saturday (for real this time!)_

_~Indie_


	18. Third Time's a Charm

**_A/N: _**_Good morning, and happy Saturday people! xD As promised, here is today's update. (LOL, and hell just froze over, I think.) Very dialogue heavy today, but bear with me, it's because we're meeting another team today. :D  
>As always, thanks to the reviewers of the last chapter, <strong>some stuff<strong> and** AquilaTempestas**, and also those who've faved or followed. _

_Hope you enjoy the update! :3_**  
><strong>

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><p><strong>Chapter Seventeen: Third Time's a Charm<strong>

"Dammit. Missed again."

"Oh, Kevin would you stop!" Mariah said irritably, snatching the little hand-carved slingshot out from his hands.

"Oi – you give that back!"

"_You_ shouldn't be cruel to the animals!"

"I'm not being cruel! I'm just givin' them what they deserve!" he countered, glaring at the little squirrel that had just tittered off into the heights and safety of the trees. "Gnawing on my beyblade, jumpin' in my breakfast – they're furry little bastards the lot of them, and I –"

"Kevin!" Lee warned, his eyes flashing.

But Kevin just lagged a few steps out of arms reach and continued muttering and cursing under his breath anyway. He pulled his beyblade out of his pocket and started picking over the little tooth marks that were displayed all around the edges of his attack ring. It'd take forever to buff those marks out! Stupid squirrels with their stupid teeth and dumb, stupid brains. As far as he was concerned, the world would be a whole lot better off without them.

Mariah rolled her eyes and glanced upwards at the blindingly bright blue sky between the canopy of leaves, shielding her eyes against the glare. It can't have been that long past midday and already the glaring heat of the sun was making them irritable. Even under the cover of shade it wasn't any cooler. It was different to the summer heat in China – sharper somehow, and there wasn't much of a breeze reaching them between the trees.

There was this fresh, cool mountain brook that ran past the village back home in China. Before she or anyone she knew was born, the village's forefathers had gradually cut though the stone and bedrock and created a second stream that ran through the village, helping to irrigate the crops and fill wells. This stream fed through to the lake at the edge of village which she and her team often practiced their blading techniques on. Children would go there to play and splash about in the cool waters while their mothers went about doing the chores. Mariah was one of these children once, and one of the things she most loved to do was frisk around the cool waters on a summers day.

But the pure, fresh waters of the brook itself were always, and would always, be her favourite. There was just something different about heading out of the village and going up to the very roots of the river. She and her brother and Rei and the rest of their little gang would hop about in the waters, racing paper boats or searching for precious gems in the riverbed. They never found any, of course, but every now and then when they came across a stone that was the deep blue of midnight or a dark, sheer grey one, polished like glass, they might as well have.

Once, Mariah found one that was a beautiful, burning shade of amber – she'd convinced herself it was gold, and nobody bothered to tell her otherwise. Nobody had to. She was young; and the pure, simple, beauty of youth was something one always envied, but only after they realised they'd already lost it themselves.

"Mariah…?"

Mariah frowned. Wow. Well that sure was a mature thought. Was she getting old... already? But she was too young to be old!

"Mariah? Hey, Mariah!"

"Huh? Wha –?" She spun around, and blinked when she noticed that she was at least ten meters away from her team. "What're you doing over _there?"_

"_We're_ followin' the map, duh," Kevin snarked, "what're _you_ doing?"

Mariah was about to bite back when Lee cuffed him around the back of the head and told him to stop antagonizing everyone already. That was her brother, she thought wryly – keeping the peace, doing it violently. "Hey Lee," she called, making her way back over to them, "d'you remember that time I thought I found gold up by the stream?"

The dark haired captain looked up, his dark gold eyes sparkling. "Heh, yeah, you had us all fighting some imaginary war over it, and –"

"Hahaha," Kevin butted in, "wasn't that the time you twisted your ankle?"

"No! _You_ twisted my ankle, Kevin," Mariah replied, folding her arms, "Jumping at me from the trees like that – you're not as light as you look, you know!"

"You weren't complaining when Rei carried you home afterwards!" Kevin said smugly. And Mariah had to grudgingly admit that he had her beat there. She wasn't complaining. In fact, she played up the pain a little.

"Pff, whatever," she said, closing her eyes disgruntledly and playfully shoving him away by the shoulder. "So, what are we actually doing anyway?" she asked, looking up at Lee. He'd just set down the large rucksack he was carrying, sat on it, and was now unrolling the map. As a rule, Lee's rucksack carried most of their water and food supplies, and Mariah carried what didn't fit. Gary was prohibited from carrying edible anything because it would be gone before anyone knew it. Kevin was just as bad and would be munching on the energy bars they found at the camp site the entire time. And Mariah was only carrying such a small amount because Lee was convinced she couldn't be trusted _not_ to cave in to Gary's hunger induced sad face. Apparently Lee was the only one who could be trusted with their food for the day and Mariah tried to ignore the fact that _her_ bag, which now only weighed half as much as before, proved that Lee was right.

"I'm just trying to get a bearing on the map. I don't trust this footpath," he said, eyeing it with distaste. "It's too convenient."

"Yeah, I know what you mean," Kevin huffed sarcastically, "I'd much rather struggle through a load of trees and branches than walk along this nice clear footpath."

But Lee just ignored him and glanced up unto the trees above. Mariah knew where this was going. "Oh, oh, let me!" she cried, skipping over to Lee and plucking the map from his hands. Circling the nearest tree and looking for the smoothest way to climb it, she said, "Don't give me that look, Lee. I'm feel like I'm getting old – but I'm too young to be old! So, I'm gonna prove it by climbing this tree." Then she shot up into the branches of the tree before she could hear any of Kevin's snarky comments about what it must be like to be inside her head.

Jumping skillfully from branch to branch, she realised that she _hated_ these American trees. There were too many leaves and branches, and the twigs were snagging on her clothes and getting tangled in her hair. The fir trees were the worst, and there were _so_ many of them around.

Approaching the top of the tree, she stopped and perched on a sturdy enough looking branch, concluding that she could see far out enough to get a bearing on the map. The first thing she looked for was the river so she could orient herself north, and was quite pleasantly surprised when she realized they had less than halfway to travel before they reached the point on the map where their next safe point should be.

Rustling branches behind her told her that someone was coming and, not two seconds later, Kevin appeared behind her.

"I hate America," he grumbled, picking pine needles out of his hair. She laughed, knowing his sentiment exactly. There were just too many of them on this stupid tree. She started running her fingers through her own tangled hair, trying to remove the pine needles that had worked their way in there.

"What're you doing coming up here anyway," she asked with a sidewards glance under her lashes in his direction, "I'm not useless, I don't need help with the map."

"Quit bein' so catty, I'm not here to help you," he said irritably, giving his hair one last shake. Then he pulled out a handful of cereal bars from under his shirt and gave her a sly grin. "Just wanted to get Lee off my case. Swiped 'em while he wasn't looking."

Mariah eyed them hungrily. Sure, she'd eaten this morning, but Kevin hadn't – the squirrels saw to that. But she was still hungry. Besides, she left _her_ pack back on the ground. "Give me one of those and I won't tell Lee that you're a little thief." Kevin narrowed his eyes at her, and she decided to push the deal. "The one with the chocolate chips, please," she said smugly, noting that there was only one. There was a moment or two where Kevin tried to stare her down, but then:

"Tch, fine," he caved in. Mariah swiped the cereal bar from Kevin's reluctant hands, grinning. She reckoned they had about five minutes before Lee began to get suspicious, so they tucked in, Kevin threateningly eyeing a nearby red squirrel the entire time.

**–––––––––––––––––––––**

Ten minutes later they were back on the track. Turns out the convenient little footpath wasn't so far off course after all, so they decided to stick with it for another mile or so. Kevin was much more placid now that he'd eaten, and Mariah couldn't help but sneak Gary another couple of food items when Lee wasn't looking. He was very quiet today. It was probably the heat.

"Arghh, it's too hot!" Kevin moaned from somewhere behind her, just as she'd opened her mouth to complain about the exact same thing.

"For crying out loud, Kevin," Lee snapped, "if I hear you mention the heat _one more time_...!" He trailed off threateningly and shifted the weight of the rucksack on his shoulders.

Mariah sighed and thought of the stream back home, hoping it'd fool her into thinking she was cooler than she was. But her hair was too sticky on her shoulders and her imagination wasn't working the way it should. She raised her hands and lifted her hair up, meaning to tie it up and out of the way, but she couldn't.

"Huh? Waaah – my bandana!" she cried, patting her head where it _should_ be, to double – triple check check that it was actually gone. And it was.

Kevin laughed from behind her. "Aha, oh yeahh, I thought you looked different!"

"Argh, it's not funny, Kevin!" she said, spinning around and stomping her foot. She knew she was being a typical girl and overreacting, but it was her favourite headband! "I must have lost it in the tree, I'm going back to look for it," she said, starting off in the other direction.

"Hey, wait, Mariah –" Lee called after her.

"I'll be two minutes, Lee! Just wait there!" she called over her shoulder, breaking out into a jog.

It wasn't long before she recognized the area where they stopped earlier – and not because she had a photographic memory or anything, but because there were a few discarded cereal bar wrappers lying around. That Kevin must have dropped them when nobody was looking. Tutting her teeth at his littering, she scanned the floor for any signs of her pink ribbon. There being none, she took to peering into the trees instead. It seemed more likely, after all, since that stupid fir free had been tugging at her hair and all.

She had just positioned herself into a crouch, ready to jump into the tree, when a voice called out to her.

"Hey, excuse me!"

Mariah turned her head around in the direction of the voice. In the distance, she saw a young man with spiky blonde hair making his way through the trees towards her. Fluttering in his hand was a long pink ribbon – her headband!

"...Is this yours?" he asked, standing a few feet away from her and holding the ribbon up.

"Ah! I thought I'd lost it. Yes, it's mine, it's my headband," she replied.

"I thought so," he said, trailing off with a small smile. It was all Mariah could really see of his face. She couldn't see his eyes through the golden visor he wore. How mysterious.

"What do you mean?" she asked in response to his remark.

"Oh...nothing, really. Just, this ribbon is pink, and pretty...and so are you." Mariah blinked, and blushed, not really sure what to say to that. "Here," he said, filling the silence and closing the gap between them, "allow me."

Before she could make a move to stop him, he was in front of her, brushing her long pink hair back from her shoulders, and gently tying the hairband around her hair. He brought with him the smell of salt and spices, like the beach of some exotic shoreline. Then it was gone, and he was stepping softly back.

"There," he said, admiring his handiwork, "much better. I'm Mystel, by the way."

Mariah blinked a couple of times, to clear the fog inside her head that, really, shouldn't be there. "I'm Mariah," she said in response. Then she cleared her throat and renewed her gusto, "Oh, and thanks for finding this, it's my favourite one," she said, gesturing to her ribbon.

"Not a problem," Mystel replied, smiling beneath his mask. She wished he'd take it off... it made him difficult to read. "So, you're blading in the tournament too, right?"

Mariah blinked for a second, and then remembered again the reason they were in these woods. Training for the tournament, which all the teams were invited to. "Well yeah," she said with a slight laugh, offhandedly waving her hand around, "why else would I be in these mountains? I'm from the White Tiger team –"

"Ah, the bladers from China, right? I'm from the –"

"– Mariaaaah? Mariah!"

Mariah spun around in the direction of her short, loudmouthed teammate's voice. "I'm over here, Kevin!" she called, cupping her hands around her mouth. Moments later he came within sight, muttering away to Lee over his shoulder, with Gary bringing up the rear, trying, by inches, to sneak something out of the bag.

"I dunno, two minutes she says. _Two minutes?_ Lee, you live with her – should'a known by now that when a girl says two minutes, she – oh, well what's this then?" he said, noticing the masked stranger in their midst.

"This," Mariah said, beaming and gesturing energetically to the blonde, "is Mystel! He's a hero – he found my bandana."

"Oh, well that's a relief," Kevin snarked, screwing his little nose up as he took in Mystel's strange appearance, all the way from his long, white robes to the mask on his face.

"Hello," Mystel said, placing a hand on his hip and smiling. "You must be the rest of Mariah's team."

"That we are," said Lee, coming to stand before the pair. "We're the White Tigers. I'm the Captain, Lee. And this Kevin and Gary. You've obviously already met my sister, Mariah." Mariah rolled her eyes at his tone. Sister. In that, she's-my-sister-so-she's-off-limits kind of voice. Hah. He did this to every boy she spoke to – just what did he think of her, that she was some kind of… of _floozy?_ Lee continued, "So you must be blading in the tournament as well."

"Well yeah," Mystel replied, folding his arms casually, "why else would I be in these mountains?"

Mariah laughed behind her hand, recognising the same words that she spoke not five minutes ago. Lee looked between the two, feeling a little like he was missing something. "What's so funny?"

"Oh, nothing," Mariah said. Then she turned to the masked blonde, "Hey, since you're here for the tournament, you've gotta have team too, right?"

"Yeah I've got a team. We're called the –"

"– Mystel! Mystel, where are you?" the blonde looked over his shoulder at the sound of a timid, little girl's voice shouting out for him.

"I dunno," he muttered, absentmindedly fiddling with one of his golden-looped earrings and looking sideways at Mariah, "am I ever gonna get a chance to tell you what team I'm from?"

"Come on Mystel, seriously!" This time a male's voice was shouting out, with evident irritation. "You've really gotta stop wandering off on us like this. Mys-_tel!"_

"I'm over here, guys," Mystel called out lazily.

"– Where?"

"Here! By the trees," he added, smirking.

"But there are trees everywhere!" spoke the girl again.

Mystel, laughing, turned back around to the White Tigers and noticed Kevin looking at him, his violet eyes slightly narrowed. "...what?"

"Why're you wearin' that mask?" he asked bluntly.

"Oh! Because I have uh... _terrible_ sensitivity to light," he said slowly, scratching the back of his head. "Yep. Pretty much kills me to look out into direct sunlight."

"Oh no," Mariah said mournfully. She thought he just had a really strange taste in accessories, she didn't even think that mask had a purpose. She felt awful now! "That must be really horrible for you!"

"Nah," Mystel replied, putting on a bright, brave, but tragic smile, "it's just something I've learnt to live with."

"There you are!" called the same voice from earlier.

Mariah turned to look over Mystel's shoulders and she saw another young man with equally spiky blonde hair emerge from between the trees. In his shadow was a tiny girl with short, baby-pink hair and huge, round eyes. Last to appear was a tall young man dressed all in white. He had a shock of orange hair and he was smiling down at a… was that a bird? Mariah squinted. There was a tiny little forest bird just perched on his finger.

"Hey," Mystel said over his shoulder as his team approached, "took you guys long enough."

"Hello," said the other blonde as he looked around at Mariah and her team. "You've been busy on your travels, Mystel," he said dryly, "looks like you've made some friends."

"Well, the letter did say we'd bump into some other beybladers today."

"We're the White Tigers," Lee said, introducing himself and holding out a hand to be shook by the other male. "I'm Lee, and this is Kevin, Gary, and my sister, Mariah."

"Pleasure to meet you all. We're the –"

"– Wait!" Mystel cried out suddenly and stuck out a hand to cover the taller blonde's mouth, almost poking his eye out in the process.

"Ugh, what?" he said, swatting irritatedly at his smaller team mate.

But Mystel jumped backwards and dodged the blow, looking from right to left when he landed. Then he said, "I'm just waiting for the next thing that's gonna jump out and interrupt us."

"….What're you _talking_ about?"

Mystel waited for a couple of seconds, listening around before replying. "Hmm, no, never mind. Doesn't look like it matters anymore." Then he cleared his throat and smiled. "We're the BEGA Battalion," he announced, spreading an arm towards his team with an air of bravado.

The other blonde rolled his eyes, before saying, "Right. Anyway, yes we are. I'm the captain, Miguel. And this is Matilda, and Brooklyn. I hope _he_ hasn't been bothering you too badly," he added apologetically.

Mystel just smirked at Miguel's comment, while Mariah looked over at him sympathetically and said, "Oh no, not at all! He's been very helpful, actually."

Brooklyn, just taking notice of the conversation, looked up at Mariah. Then he said, "Oh, I know that look. He hasn't fed you that 'sensitive to light' story yet, has he?"

Mariah blinked, "Wha… so, you're not?" She looked over to Mystel in confusion, and found he was chuckling to himself.

"Maybe I am, maybe I'm not."

"He's not," Brooklyn said shortly.

"You know Mystel, you're really terrible sometimes," said Matilda, speaking up for the first time. "You shouldn't joke about things like that."

"Feel free to ignore anything that comes out of his mouth," Miguel added.

"Yep," Mystel agreed wryly, "also, feel free to ignore me when I say that our next safe point is only less than two miles that way," he said smugly, gesturing somewhere to their left, "if we just walk straight ahead."

"Huh, how do you know that?" Mariah asked, her eyes growing large.

"I scouted it out earlier. It's right off the trail and there's a bit of a climb, but it's shorter than the marked route," he replied with a smile and a shrug, scratching the back of his head lazily. "I was on my way back to find these guys when I bumped into you." Kevin muttered something about him being a show-off and Mariah elbowed him.

"How do you know we're even heading to the same point, anyway?" Lee said, folding his arms.

"We must be, why else would this Dickenson have us cross paths?" Brooklyn inputted airily. He gave a wave of his hand and the little bird flew away, its singing fading away in the distance.

"Speaking of which," Mystel said, placing an annoyed hand on his hip. Mariah couldn't help but notice that he did this a lot. "Does he do this often, your Dickenson? Just leave people stranded out in the middle of nowhere?"

"I'm not sure," Lee said, rubbing his chin. "But I know he did it to Rei's team two years ago, he left them to make their way through Europe on their own."

"Rei's team?" Miguel asked.

"The Bladebreakers." Lee clarified.

"The Champions," Brooklyn said distantly. "I understand they're taking part in this tournament, too?"

"Yep," Mariah replied brightly.

"That's good," said Brooklyn, smiling and seeming to exchange a look with Mystel that she didn't understand. Or perhaps she was imagining it.

"Anyway," Miguel said, in a tone that seemed to want to wrap things up, "we should get going. Let's exchange maps to see if we really are headed the same way. Then we can chat a little more as we walk."

Mariah stepped back and let her brother and the other captain look over each other's maps. The BEGA Battalion's team dynamic was so different to theirs. Matilda was the only girl on the team, and seemed to be quite shy and soft spoken. Miguel seemed to be a lot like her brother, cool and in charge, as she might have expected from the captain. Brooklyn seemed nice enough. He was polite and smiled a lot, but there was something else there that she couldn't quite put her finger on. And she wasn't sure what to make of Mystel, although he seemed like a bit of a trickster, but quite charming too. That, and he was a lifesaver for finding her bandana.

She shrugged to herself. She supposed she'd get to know them a little better along the way.

Soon enough, the captains were done. Turns out that they were both heading for the same safe-point after all. Mystel took that as his cue and to lead and immediately started guiding them through the trees, wasting no time in displaying his impressive acrobatic skills. Grudgingly, Mariah had to admit that Kevin was right.

He really _was_ a bit of a show-off.

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><p><strong><em>AN: _**_Bleurgh, so many names beginning with M. XD Anyway, how was that, I hope BEGA's characters weren't too far off... I'm still getting a feel for Miguel if I'm honest. Currently re-working my way through G-rev to get to know them better XD Anywhoo, that's it from me for today, but don't be shy, drop me a couple of lines in a **review**! After all, they just help me to do more of what you readers enjoy, and less of what you don't. It's a win/win situation! 8D_

_**Next chapter:** Saturday. :3  
><em>


	19. Leader

_**A/N:** Good evening, Ladies and Gents! Here I am with the promised (albeit a little late – but still a definite) Saturday update! :) I had real fun writing this one, and it didn't end entirely as I had in mind (Kai had other plans apparently, and decided to steal a little limelight toward the end – Pah!) but I'm happy with it nonetheless. Hope you all will be too!_

_MEGA thanks to **some stuff** for reviewing the last chapter, and to **Desastrus** and **Sprintingfever** for reviewing TONS of chapters. Words cannot express how much I love you guys!  
><em>

_**Warning for the chapter:** Here thar' be masses of dialogue. And CLIFFHANGERS, if you know what I mean. And you will, later. (lol, I make awesome jokes. x3 *brick'd*)  
><em>

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><p><strong>Chapter Eighteen: Leader<strong>

"Okay, okay, I've got another one," Rei said, adjusting the numerous bags on his shoulders. He flexed a strained smirk and cracked his knuckles before continuing. "When I was eleven years old, I was sparring with my father the night before my black-belt examination. I wasn't just a kid anymore so it was getting pretty intense – neither of us were pulling any punches. Anyway, I end up aiming this kick to his head that was just a _little_ too fast for him to block or dodge, and – bam! – I broke his nose."

"Oooh, that's a tough one," Hilary said, rubbing her hands together and narrowing her eyes in thought.

Rei laughed, "Good! It's about time you had to carry something!" He made a point of adjusting the heavy load on his back again while the rest of the team snickered away at him (bar Kai, of course).

They were playing a game. More specifically, a drinking game – only without the drinks. He remembered the elder people in the village used to play it in the evening sometimes, to unwind from a hard week's work. Each person would take it in turns to tell a small story about themselves, and the rest of the group had decide whether it was true or false. If they answered wrong, they would have to take a penalty drink. After a few rounds of this, everything became nothing short of ludicrous. Rei remembered all those nights spent with Lee spying on the elders as they played, laughing as they slowly began to act increasingly more like children – worse, even.

Anyhow, seeing as he and his team were quite without drinks (and not to mention some years below the limit yet), Rei had to tweak the rules a little. Instead of taking penalty shots, those who answered wrong would have to carry one of the story teller's bags, and those who answered right got to shrug off one of their bags and give it _to_ the story teller – a penalty for the story teller for not being able to dupe everyone. It became very chaotic during the switching of bags in the first few rounds, and it wasted far more time than it was worth – but it was good for a laugh and they'd managed to pass the time quite amusedly. As it stood now, both Tyson and Rei were losing miserably. Kai and Kenny were being spoil-sports and refusing to play and, miraculously, neither Max nor Hilary had gotten a question wrong yet, so they weren't carrying a thing!

"Come on Rei, you're not complaining about a few measly little bags are you?" Tyson snarked from behind, his knees bent under an equally large amount of bags hanging off his shoulders. "You must not be as much of a man as you think you are."

"Oh, really? Then I guess you wouldn't object to _doubling_ the wager this time round then?"

"Hah! Fine – you're on! …Okay uhhmmm, I say _true_, 'cause you wouldn't big yourself up only to confess that you weren't actually good enough to break your dad's nose."

"Haha, what?" Max said, spinning round to eye his best friend incredulously, walking backwards as he spoke. "You say it like breaking your dad's nose is a right-of-passage thing or something!" Then, turning to Rei, "I say false."

"Oh yeah, and how d'you work _that_ out?" Tyson snarked.

"Easy," Max said, throwing his arms behind his head and looking down at him with a slightly mocking expression on his face, "if _you're_ saying that it's true, then it _must_ be false."

"Arghh, why I oughtta…"

"Hey, chill it, guys," Rei called. Not that he needed to. Tyson couldn't even scratch his own nose under all those bags, let alone lay one on Max. Then he turned to the only girl amongst them. "What d'you say, Hilary?"

"Hmmm. I agree with Max – _false_. You're always so... controlled! I can't see you breaking anyone's _anything_ on accident."

"Yep, you've got me," Rei said brightly, "it was false."

"What!" Tyson yelled in total disbelief. "You've gotta be kidding me!"

"No, I'm not," Rei replied, chuckling at his loud teammate's reaction. "Come on, Tyson, you really think I'd break _my dad's nose?"_

"Argh, whatever, just come over here and gimme those bags!"

Rei just laughed and stopped in his tracks to give Tyson two of his bags. The Japanese blader ought to count himself lucky he had such nice friends, though – Rei was merciful enough to give him two of the lighter ones in his possession.

Max and Hilary weren't so merciful, though, shamelessly laughing at his wobbling knees. Tyson leveled them with what was almost a Kai-worthy glare. Almost. "Alright alright, quit your cackling, who's next?"

"I'll go next!" Hilary said, her hand impulsively shooting into the air as if she was still in class. Looking back over her shoulder, she said, "'Cause, at least, if you get this one wrong Ty, you won't have to carry anything of mine."

"Oh hah – how kind of you," Tyson said grimly, narrowing his eyes at her.

"Okay, okay so: I have _never_ broken a bone."

"...Tchh, is that it?" Tyson mocked. "Lame, lame. At least Rei told us a story!"

"Tyson, I never realized you were such a sore loser – you're a total grouch!" Hilary said, spinning around to narrow her eyes at him.

"Yah, well, if I am grouchy, it's only 'cause I've learnt from the best."

"Hn." There was a significant lack of retaliation from their dual-headed captain at this comment. Obviously, he was above such trivialities.

"...What'd'you mean Hilary," Rei asked after a couple moment's thought. "You've never broken someone else's bones, or one of your own?"

"One of my own," she clarified.

"Ah, okay, true then. I can't see you doing anything dangerous enough to break a bone."

"Yeah, me too," Max said, "you're such an indoor girl, Hil."

Hilary rolled her eyes. "What do you say, Tyson?"

The group had all but slowed to a stop because of the navy haired blader's lagging. Soon enough, Rei thought, Kai might have to call an end to the game or else they wouldn't make it anywhere before dark. ...They still had to cross the river yet, but hadn't found anywhere to cross it by.

"False," he said, smirking. "I'll bet you've broken a bone before. Nothing impressive though – just your toe or something…. after dropping an encyclopedia on it."

Hilary blinked, her face a true picture, torn somewhere between an expression of shock and mortification. "Wha...but – how did you…?"

Tyson's jaw hit the ground. "Oh my god, no! I'm right? Seriously!" He'd stopped walking altogether now and was now just frozen in place, his knees still bent under the weight of the bags, laughing his face off. "But I was just kidding! When?"

Rei watched, unable to contain his own chuckling as a bright red flush began to grace Hilary's cheeks. She balled her hands into fists and folded her arms agitatedly, saying, "...Sixth grade. But there is _no_ way you could _guess_ something like that! Have you been speaking to my mom?"

"Tchh, _why_ would I speak to your mom? She's scarier than you are! I guess I'm just amazing is all." Without an ounce of ceremony, he dropped all the bags onto the floor and stood up straight, making a show of stretching his back and rolling his shoulders out. Then he bent down and grabbed at a few of the bags, before plucking one up and smugly handing it out to Hilary. "Here you go, I guessed right – take your penalty!"

"Hah, nice try Tyson. I'm not taking _that_," she said huffily, walking towards him, "knowing you, it's probably the heaviest one."

Rei laughed a little harder as Tyson pulled a face, looking as though he'd just been stabbed. "Well then, you obviously _don't_ know me at all," Tyson spluttered, "it's the lightest one I could find! But, if you _really_ don't trust me, Hil, I can always –"

"– Huh, wait, no! Never mind, I'll take it!" she gripped the bag, but Tyson didn't loosen his hold on it.

"You'll take it, '_please,_'" he said, pulling her a little closer. They were practically nose-to-nose now, both with narrowed eyes, both gripping a handle on the bag, both trying to stare each other out. Rei rolled his eyes. Not this again.

"Please," Hilary said grudgingly.

"And you're sorry for thinking so low of me." He was smirking now.

"What? Hmph, I – I'm... _sorry,_ for thinking so low of you," she said through slightly gritted teeth, trying to snatch the bag away. But Tyson wasn't finished yet.

"Because I'm so amazing, and honourable, and kind, and –"

"Oh, and modest," Hilary snarked, "don't forget modest."

"Hey, would you guys shut it for _two _seconds!" Kai barked from the front of the group. He'd dropped the bag he was carrying, and his shoulders were stiff.

"Alright, don't get your panties in a twist, Mr. Sunshine –"

"– I said, _shut it!"_ Kai whipped around.

Hilary's face crumpled with an expression somewhere between hurt, and concern. "...What's up, Kai?"

Kai ignored her. Rei blinked when his captain's crimson eyes flashed to the side, meeting his. "Do you hear that?"

A stillness descended on the group and Rei poised to listen, straining his ears. He guessed he must've missed it over the noise they were making, but he could definitely hear it now. It sounded like another group of people… shouting. "Yeah, sounds like…" A chill walked it's way down Rei's spine as one of the voices reached a worryingly high pitch. "...Like they're in trouble."

"I think they're somewhere over there," Tyson said staring off to the right, his face now showing an expression of concern instead of amusement.

"We should check it out," Kai said, picking up a few of the bags from the ground and shouldering them. Max did the same, and Hilary took another of Rei's, and soon enough they were all walking at an urgent pace through the increasingly thinning trees towards the voices.

Rei's somewhat irrational fears of a bear attack, or something equally as horrible, began to diminish, and the voices and shouts began to sound only panicked rather than terrified the closer they got. Eventually, he could pick out the odd sentence or two.

"_Seriously, I really don't think it looks safe!"_

"_...Come on, relax, it'll be –"_

"– _No! You know, we aren't even meant to be crossing here anyway!"_

Rei turned his head around to Kai as they all strode through the trees, "What'd'you think's going on?"

"Hn. Sounds like some idiot's doing something he shouldn't."

Soon, the green and brown around them slowly became grey and blue. The pines and firs were spread thin now. Rei's golden eyes squinted in the sudden light, and then widened as he saw the sheer grey rock and steep slopes surrounding them – evidence that they were nearing a canyon or gorge of some kind. In the distance they could see three – no, four figures, and one of the was making his way across what looked like a bridge over the canyon.

"Hey, hey you guys!"

The group of people spun around and Rei resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Trust Tyson to announce their presence with all the grace of a bull crashing through a china shop.

As they drew near, Rei began to make out the details of the people near the bridge. The first person he saw was a girl. She had masses of fiery red hair, and he noticed her large, dark eyes were somewhat reluctant to take in Rei and his team as they approached – they kept flicking back to the boy on the bridge. He had a shock of blue hair, and his arms were spread slightly as if to balance himself on the rickety thing. At the sound of Tyson's call, however, he twisted around to see what all the fuss was about. Also in their numbers were two other guys; one short and blonde, and the other tall and wide, with brown hair.

"Hey!" Tyson said again as they finally closed the distance between their groups, "you gotta be some more 'bladers for the tournament, right? What's all the shouting about?"

"Huh, nothing much, just our fool of a captain being too much of a daredevil for his own good again," the small blonde said in reply, folding his arms irritatedly.

The girl with red hair spun around again, apparently dismissing the need to speak to them now that her team mate had. Cupping her hands around her mouth, she shouted out again, "Kane, _seriously_, please come back!"

"Look," he said, holding his hands out and walking backwards over the bridge one small step at a time, "it's holding up just fine! If you're really that worried, we can cross one-by-one – we'll all be over in no time."

"I've gotta disagree," said the blonde, turning back around again, "calculating the thickness of this rope, it ain't gonna hold up. Besides, we don't even know how old it is!"

"Not you too, Jim… You're all worrying over nothing. It wouldn't be here if it wasn't safe – whoa!" The boy called Kane suddenly bent his knees and his arms shot out to grip one of the rope hand-rails as the bridge gave a sudden, ominous lurch. Hilary's hands flew to her mouth with a small 'ohmygosh'.

"See?" The redhead shouted, "Kane, please get back over here, we'll find another way across!"

"Yeah dude," Tyson stepped forward and shouted, probably feeling a little like he ought to try his hand at helping too. Rei saw him peer over the edge and down into the canyon, before pulling an expression of distaste. "It _definitely_ doesn't look worth the risk."

There was a brief moment where he and Tyson clasped eyes. The boy looked over to the other side – he was pretty much half-way across already. But then he looked down, and seemed to think better of it. "Alright...you're probably right."

The redhead looked around at Tyson, relieved as Kane began to make his way back. "Thank you," she said in a small voice.

"Tchh, it ain't nothin'" he replied smoothly, stepping back again and adjusting his cap.

The atmosphere of relief swiftly evaporated, however, when a sound began to echo around the clearing that sounded suspiciously like a series of creaks and snaps. Kane hesitated on the bridge, his hands flying out to grab the rails again. Stepping forward, another crack could be heard and he stopped in his tracks completely.

"..._Shit,_" he heard his stone-cold captain mutter behind him, stepping forward.

But not before Rei had. "Hey, stay there – stop moving for a second!"

"Huh?" the blue-haired boy looked up, now a trace of fear in his eyes.

"You're gonna have to take it slow, okay? And take your hands of those hand-rails, too!"

"What?" Kane eyed Rei with an expression that clearly said _'have you lost your mind?'_, but he let go of the rope nonetheless.

"Yeah dude, what?" Tyson echoed.

"Look, you're just gonna have to trust me," he said, turning to Kane's team who were eyeing him with equally incredulous faces. "We have rope bridges all over the mountains back home in China, and the top-ropes pretty much hold _all_ the weight of the planks below. If he keeps tugging at them, he's just gonna wear them down a lot faster and, if the bridge were to break, holding on to those wouldn't do _any_ good."

"...But, it's _not_ going to break, right?" Salima asked in a small voice, turning pale.

Rei didn't answer. Instead, he addressed everyone in the group. "Hey, did anyone see which side of the bridge was giving in?"

"Left," the little blonde said, "it's taut from the strain, see?"

And so it was. This kid had quite an eye. "Okay, good. Hey – Kane, right?" Rei said. The boy on the bridge looked up and nodded. "You've gotta stay low to the planks, okay? Take it slow, and keep to the right, the ropes are stronger there."

"Are you sure?"

"I dunno, but it's your best bet right about now." Then he turned back around to the rest of the group. "What's he doing out there anyway?"

"He's a little too care-free for his own good, sometimes... It looked like a short-cut, so he decided to take it without _really_ thinking it through," the redhead said unhappily. She was holding her arms close around her body, her eyes fixed on her blue-haired team mate.

"Hah, well _that_ sounds pretty familiar, wouldn't you say, Tyse?" Rei raised an eyebrow at him. The Japanese teen was moaning all morning about trying to find a short-cut. He'd only stopped when Rei decided they should all play that game to distract themselves.

"Yeah yeah, whatever," Tyson said, throwing his arms behind his head and closing his eyes.

"Anyway," Rei said, turning back to look at Kane who was slowly shuffling his way back across the bridge, "I still think we ought'a keep a grip on these ropes – better to be safe than sorry, right? Kai, could you come over here and keep close to the bottom ones with me? And you," as Kai stepped beside him, Rei looked over at the largest member of Kane's team, hoping that he was as packed with muscle as he looked, "I'm sorry, I don't know your name, but could you get ready to keep a hold on that top-rope, just in case he reaches for it on instinct."

"Of course," he replied.

"Great – Tyse, Max? You're gonna have to watch us, and, if we do have to pull him up, make sure he doesn't end up pulling us all down, alright?"

"Heh, no pressure, then," Tyson said, cracking his knuckles along with half a smile.

Hilary, Kenny and the other two member's of Kane's team stepped back to give them some room, and they all waited with slightly baited breath as Kane slowly made his way towards them.

"So far so good," Kai breathed, as Kane came ever closer. He had to be less than ten feet away now. Rei felt some of the tension begin to leave his shoulders.

Then, the clearing echoed with a sickening snapping sound. The rope snapped, and Rei watched as the boy with blue hair froze for just a moment, before catching the eyes of his friends and disappearing out of sight. The girl screamed.

"KANE!"

"Shit, grab the rope, grab it! – Tyson!" Rei tensed his hands around the bottom rope and felt it jerk away sharply, and in the same moment that he felt his feet slip against the smooth stone edge, he felt Tyson's hands grip around his elbow. From the corner of his eye, he saw blonde hair fly forwards and figured that Max had gripped Kai too. There was a slightly strangled yell from below and a thud as Kane hit the side of the canyon.

"Dude," Max yelled around Kai's arm, "are you still holding on?"

No answer, but from the sound of the coughing and gasping, and the way the rope continued to pull against his and Kai's hands, Rei gathered that he was still there. He probably just had the air knocked out of his lungs on impact – but that was no surprise. At least he wasn't still way out near the middle when the bridge gave up... he _definitely_ wouldn't have gotten off so lightly then. But it wasn't over yet – he was still dangling over the edge, and they still had to pull him up.

"Kane, man, just keep holding on – you gotta catch your breath so we can pull you up!" yelled his larger team mate, discarding the other rope and peering over the edge. He was laying close to the ground now and stretching his hand out, but he was still a few feet shy of reaching the blue-haired captain.

"I –" a little more coughing and strained breathing, "I'm fine!"

"Good," Rei said, his voice strained with the effort, but relieved. "Alright Kane, listen up! Let go of the planks, and grab hold of the rope on the side instead, and we'll pull you up that way."

"...Alright."

Slowly, Kane inched his grip sidewards and took hold of the rope. Good thing too, as one of the planks broke off ominously and fell down into the canyon, bouncing off the jagged rocks in its descent.

A minute or so later, and he and Kai had managed to pull him up close enough for the bigger guy to grab hold of his wrist. Rei helped out, and, soon enough, Kane was lifted up and over the edge of the canyon.

Kai let go of what was left of the bridge and threw it down the canyon, before airing his palms out to relieve the friction-burn. Rei did the same and let loose a breath of relief as Kane, having regained both the feeling in his legs and solid ground, hastened to put as much distance between himself and the edge of the canyon as possible. He collided with Tyson on the way and the pair almost toppled over, but the navy haired teen gripped the other's shoulders and managed to save them both at the last minute.

"Dude, what the hell man?" Tyson exclaimed, "You're crazier than I am! Did you even _see_ that bridge?"

"I… I guess not," Kane replied a little breathlessly. Then the two all but collapsed against each other, laughing, giddy with relief. They all were.

"Oh my god, Kane," the redhead said, walking up to him, her face a wash of many emotions. She came right before him and looked as if she was going to throw her arms around him. Instead, she swatted him on the chest. Hard. "You are such an _idiot!_ I was so worried!"

"I – I'm sorry, Salima, I didn't meant to worry you," he said a little awkwardly, scratching the back of his head.

Then she really did throw an arm around him. Pulling him into a one armed hug, she said, "I'm just glad you're okay."

"I am. I'm fine," he said, looking her in the eye firmly as she pulled away. Then, looking back around at Rei and Kai, he said, "Thanks really are in order, you two," he said, extending a hand to the Chinese blader, who took it good-naturedly and shook. "Introductions, too. We're the Psykicks, I'm Kane –"

"– yeah, we figured," Tyson interjected, raising an eyebrow and nonchalantly throwing his arms behind his head.

Kane just shook his head and smirked a little before continuing, "and this is the rest of my team, Salima, Jim and Goki." Each of them smiled pleasantly and waved, or nodded in Jim's case, when their name was called. "I really can't thank you guys enough –"

"I understand you're captain, then?" Kai interrupted.

"Yeah, I lead the team."

"Hn. Well perhaps you'd like to think twice about _where_ you lead them in future." Then, without another word, he pocketed his hands and stalked off in the general direction of the bags which they'd all dropped a few meters away in their haste to help out earlier. Kane just blinked at the stoic blader's retreating form.

"Huh. Just ignore him, Kane," Tyson started, "he's –"

"No, he's right." Kane said, with a serious expression on his face. Looking at his team, he continued, "I almost put you all in real danger. I'm sorry."

Salima smiled kindly at him, "It's fine. We live and we learn, right? But we're all okay – and that's all that really matters in the end." Then she turned around to Rei and said, "But Kane's right. We can't thank you enough – I don't know what would've happened if you hadn't turned up!"

"Ha, well, I think we have a pretty good idea what might've – ouch!"

"_Tyson!_ Don't say things like that!" Hilary said, elbowing him sharply in the ribs. But Kane and the others just laughed, nothing was going to spoil their feelings of relief any time soon.

"It's fine, really," Rei said, "I'm just glad we were able to get here in time to help. Oh, but don't thank me – it was Kai who heard you all shouting," he said, gesturing backwards to where their captain was regathering the scattered backpacks. "We wouldn't even be here at all if it wasn't for him."

"Yeah, I really owe you one, Kai. Thanks!" Kane called over.

"Hn. Not a problem," he said, raising his hand in the air for a second.

"Hmm," Tyson said with a faint knowing smile, "he's happy today." Then he laughed at the expressions on the Psykick's faces. "No, is, I can tell! – He acts all tough, but he really is just a big ol' marshmallow."

They heard a 'Hah!' from behind them where Kai was, but nothing more.

"Anyway," Tyson continued, "we're the –"

"– the Bladebreakers!" Jim suddenly exclaimed, snapping his fingers.

"...Oh yeah! I thought you looked familiar," Kane said, the light of recognition dawning in his blue eyes. "Must not've recognized you in the middle of all the, er –"

"Huh, so you've heard of us?" Max said excitedly, his blonde curls bouncing, "that's totally cool!"

"Duh, of course they've heard of us, Maxi – we're the World Champs, remember?" Tyson said rubbing his nose conceitedly. Rei shook his head. The boy didn't have an ounce of modesty. "I guess you'll have already heard our names then; I'm Tyson, and this is Max, Rei, the Chief, and Captain Kai!" he rounded off with a jovial salute in Kai's direction. It was ignored.

"Hey hey hey!" Hilary interrupted, elbowing the Japanese blader again, "what about me?"

"Oh, yeah, I forgot about you. This is Hilary, she's our team ma – smphlbfhm!"

Tyson was cut off as Hilary's hand shot out and covered his mouth irritatedly. "– For the last time, Tyson, I am _not_ your mascot!" Rei chuckled and watched as she shoved Tyson off to the side (Max only just managing to move out of the way) with another impressive display of strength before continuing sweetly, "I'm their coach – Hilary Tachibana, it's lovely to meet you."

"Hey, Kane!" Tyson said, picking himself up off the floor and fixing his crooked cap, "how about a beybattle?"

The same light of competition that was so often seen in Tyson's eyes lit up in Kane's, and his eyes narrowed. "Sure thing."

"Yeah! Alright, I'm gonna –"

"You're _not_ gonna do anything," Kai said gruffly, appearing out of nowhere and grabbing Tyson's blade hand by the wrist in midair. He swiped his Dragoon away. Tyson huffed, but Rei recognised Kai's tone. It was his 'no-more-nonsense-for-real-this-time' tone. There was simply no arguing with it. "We've lost enough time already, and we all need to cross the canyon and get to the next safe point before dark. Battles can wait."

Rei and the group rolled their eyes at Kai's retreating back and made to collect their bags, but then Tyson looked around as Kane and his team remained where they were standing, a little awkwardly. "Huh... aren't you guys coming?"

Kane turned to face Salima for a second before replying. Apparently, they were unsure of whether they were welcome to follow or not. "Well, er…"

"Of course they are," Kai said, shouldering his bag. I typical Kai fashion, he didn't turn around to face them. "I said we _all_ have to cross the canyon. So let's get moving."

Rei blinked, and then laughed lightly. Kai sure was accommodating today. He heard Tyson echo his thoughts.

"Well, that's probably the closest to a formal invitation you're ever gonna get from him," he said, grinning. "So come on, already, I think he's in a good mood today – let's make the most of it!"

Everybody in the group laughed, and the nine teens followed Kai away from the broken bridge and into the trees once more.

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN:** Okay, so I totally feel like I failed to make Kane as cool as I see him in my head – I'm scared he's just turned into some idiot who needs saving from a bridge he was stupid enough to walk out on. But honestly, I love the guy! I totally see him as the kind of guy with an adventurous, almost reckless streak who will do those kind of things, but with the level-headed responsibility to own up afterwards. Anyhow, yay Kane! x3  
><em>

_Also, props to **Desastrus** for calling Kai a 'big ol' marshmallow' in a review – haven't been able to get it outta my head since, ergo, it's inclusion here! XD  
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_Well, that's it from me today, I figure I'll be seeing you sometime in the week with an update for **Gemini. **Jeez, I totally need to get working on Risky Business too. Ah well. x3  
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_**Next chapter:** Saturday.  
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	20. Choice

_**A/N: **Well, Indie here! Sorry for the significant lack of update last week, but here I am making up for it with a *slightly* early update, haha. xD  
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_As always, I'd like to thank everyone who's taken the time to review so far: **Sprintingfever** and **some stuff** for the last chapter, glad to hear you guys enjoyed it; **AquilaTempestas** for Chapter Seventeen, haha, I had so much fun writing Mystel so I'm happy it was to your liking :3; **country-girl20** for Chapters Sixteen, Seventeen and Eighteen, dude you're just awesome; and **Rangerapprentice** for reading the lot and reviewing the last chapter, hope you enjoy this next chapter as there's a whooole lot of Blitzkrieg in it. Squee. x3  
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_Also, huge huge thanks to **Sprintingfever** – without the help and inspiration of this TOTALLY cool person, the chapter wouldn't even be here. Ha, you're so awesome. x3  
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><p><strong>Chapter Nineteen: Choice<strong>

"I'm hungry."

"Ian, just shut up already."

"No Bryan, you shut up! Tala, can't we just stop to eat?" Ian whined impatiently.

"No."

"Argh, you're such a dick! I didn't get any breakfast because of your stupid little trick with the tree!"

"Deal with it, Ian, we're not stopping to eat. We didn't bring any food anyway."

"I hate you," he muttered childishly.

"Hate Bryan," Tala said nonchalantly, twisting round briefly, "he's the one who ate your share this morning."

While Bryan grinned rather cruelly, Ian continued to mutter under his breath and sent the falcon blader a heated glare, but nothing else besides. Bryan was bigger than he was and Ian didn't particularly feel like getting another ass-kicking.

Tala sighed to himself and kept pushing forwards through the trees. They'd only been walking for a couple hours, maybe three. He calculated that they ought to have another hour's journey ahead at most, after which they should have arrived at (or at least somewhere nearby) the next safe point and could relax for the rest of the afternoon before setting up camp.

Tala pulled the map out of his back pocket again, but more out of habit than anything else. All they had to do was continue walking due east, there was no way they could loose themselves. After wiping the thin sheen of sweat from his brow Tala plowed on ahead, grudgingly admitting that, maybe, he'd let himself fall a little out of shape since leaving the Abbey. There was once a time when a steady upward trek through the mountains like this would be a cake walk.

Of course, he supposed heat, which they never really had much of in Russia to say the least, wasn't helping matters either.

"Well well well, what do we have here?"

Tala stopped in his tracks at the sound of the voice and, old habits not dying, instinctively used a military hand signal and motioned to his team to freeze. It sounded like a girl's voice. All the way out here?

From the corner of his eye, he saw Bryan drop the bags he was carrying and shift his stance. Always ready for a fight, forever on the defensive – even when there couldn't be any _real_ threat. Tala wondered vaguely if he and his team would ever loosen up a little. But he supposed not. There were some habits that never broke.

"Looks to me like we've found some strays, sis," called another voice from the opposite direction.

"Are you lost, boys?" the girl's voice called out again, mockingly. "You're _way_ off the trail out here."

Tala's eyebrow twitched in annoyance as he stared up into the trees, searching for the source of the voices. "Alright, you've had your fun. Now enough with the games," he called sharply. "Unless you feel like coming out to play?"

There was a rustling around them at which point two people appeared. The first to appear was the girl. She had long, dark blue hair and sharp emerald eyes. She dropped out of a nearby tree and landed neatly onto the ground before them, before standing up and placing a hand on her hip. The second was a boy. With a spiky mop of dark green hair and the same piercing eyes, he hung upside down by his knees from a branch just a few feet behind the girl, and he had a mischievous little grin on his face. They were both dressed, Tala noted, in red and orange outfits of uncertain ethnic origin – clearly foreigners.

Beside him, he felt Bryan ease up. His purple-grey haired teammate must have been thinking the same thing as him: these two didn't pose a threat. There were a few seconds of silence in which his team sussed out the other two, until:

"Heh. I didn't know monkeys were native to north America," Ian snarked.

At this the boy dropped out of the tree and, twisting around in the air, landed neatly on his feet next to the girl. Tala watched as the boy drew himself up to his full height indignantly. It wasn't anything impressive.

Even Bryan snorted. "Relative of yours, Ian?" he asked, looking sideways at him and prodding the small blader in the shoulder with his elbow.

"Pah, like hell he is!" Ian cried disgruntledly, swatting away his larger teammate's elbow.

"Hah, yeah – as if I'd be related to that puny thing," the other replied cooly, folding his arms.

Ian spluttered with indignation. He took enough insults about his height from his own team, and he could deal with that on a good day since _they_, at least, were no small fries. But this weasel – Ian was sure he had half an inch on him, at least! "That's rich, coming from a – a short skinny little weed like you!"

"What did you call me, pipsqueak?" he asked, with a mocking grin on his face. Seemed he knew a nerve when he hit one.

"You heard me, you tiny little speck of a fuck nugget!"

The other boy's jaw dropped and the grin slid off his face like butter. Apparently, he wasn't able to keep his former cool in the face of such blatant vulgarity. "That's it! You're asking for it you… you big-nosed little midget!"

"… Bi – big nosed? _Big-nosed!_ That's it! Why I oughtta…"

Tala raised an eyebrow and watched with some amusement as the two pint-sized boys marched up to one another and squared off, yelling all the while. They were nose-to-nose now (which, in Ian's case, meant he was almost poking the other boy's eye out), and grabbing at each other's shirts angrily.

"Wait wait wait wait," Ian shouted, taking a step back and holding his hands out before him, initiating a temporary cease-fire. "Why are _we_ fighting?"

Slowly, Ian turned his head around and settled his scarlet eyes on Bryan who, for all intents and purposes, was the true instigator of the argument. The small green haired boy's eyes travelled away from Ian and in the instant they landed on Bryan, a mischievous grin of understanding crept around his face too. A split second later and both of the little people decided to commit suicide, apparently, by launching themselves at the falcon blader in unison, screaming battle cries the entire time.

Bryan narrowed his eyes, took half a step back, braced himself, and then – contact. "Urghf... fuckin' get – _get off me you little shits!" _

All hell broke loose.

"Oh boy," the girl said, visibly face palming and, sidestepping the fight, made her way towards Tala and the rest of their team.

Spencer folded his bulky arms and chuckled lightly as he watched the all too familiar sight of Bryan and Ian fighting, only this time with a new little addition. "So," he said, looking down at the girl and nodding towards her small friend, "you've got one too?"

She looked over at the brawling trio and sighed. "What, a little firecracker? Doesn't everyone?" she smirked. "I take it you're one of the teams participating in the tournament, then?"

"That we are," Tala said, folding his arms and joining the conversation too. "We're the Blitzkrieg Boys. I'm Tala, captain of the team. Those two idiots over there are Bryan and Ian. And –"

"– And you can call me Spencer," the blonde said, extending a huge hand which the girl shook.

"Heh, well you're a big guy, aren't you?" she said with a sly smile, looking up at the blader who towered over her. "My name's Mariam, and that's my little brother Joseph," she said, flicking her bangs out of her eyes a little.

Tala raised an eyebrow, "Small team. Is it just the two of you?"

"Oh, no," she said, smirking, "there's four of us, but Ozuma sent Joseph and I ahead. We call ourselves the Saint Shields," she added.

"Oh, alright then. So where –" Tala was cut off by the sound of a particularly strangled yell coming from the mouth of his smallest teammate. The three looked over to the brawl. "– Ah. Yes, you… might wanna pull your little brother out of there before Bryan actually ends up killing someone."

Mariam laughed, not quite taking him seriously. "Oh, he'll be fine. You don't know Joseph."

"And you don't know Bryan," Spencer said grimly.

Tala rolled his eyes and made to step forward to put an end to the scuffle, but just as he did so he had to step quickly back again as a green and orange blur zoomed past him.

Joseph, having just been tossed out of the fight like a sack of potatoes, skidded across the ground on his bottom in a cloud of dust and pine needles. Scrambling to his feet again, he crouched down and got ready to launch himself straight back in. But before his feet even left the ground, Mariam's hand shot forward and caught him by the collar of his shirt, pulling him roughly backwards. His preemptive battle-cry was amusingly cut off midway and degenerated into a strangled choking sound as his shirt tightened around his neck.

Coughing, spluttering and cradling his throat, Joseph's green eyes shot up indignantly towards his sister. "Mariam, what's the big ide – ouch! – hey!" he said, rubbing his head.

After swatting him roughly around the back of the head, Mariam placed her hands on her hips and said pointedly, "Ozuma said _not_ to go picking fights with the other team, remember? I have enough trouble cleaning up after the mess Dunga's temper gets him in, without _you_ causing trouble too."

"Alright alright, chill out, sis" Joseph muttered easily, blowing a puff of air through his bangs and folding his arms nonchalantly, "just having a bit of fun."

"Bryan!" Tala said sharply. He'd just noticed the pale-haired blader aiming one hell of a kick at Ian. At the sound of his voice, though, Bryan froze for a second and Tala watched as he seemed to weigh up the pros and cons of his current choice. The satisfaction of laying one on Ian versus the consequences of ignoring a direct warning from his captain. A second later and Bryan decided to back off. Ian, no longer caught between a tree trunk and the impending kick, let loose a breath of relief.

The purple-grey haired blader began to dust off his clothes and Mariam called over to him, "Bryan, eh? I take it you're the stupid one with the temper, then? Every team has one of those, too."

He froze for the second time, before letting his pale grey eyes snap over to her green ones sharply. "...What?"

She smirked and folded her arms while Ian looked at her with wide eyes. The girl was baiting _Bryan_. Had she lost her mind? "A _short_ temper, too," she continued. "Still, at least this one's got you on a leash," she said, gesturing at Tala.

The redheaded captain smirked and watched his teammate's predicament with mild amusement. He knew all about Bryan's issue with men who hit women. Unfortunately for Bryan, hitting people was usually his way of asserting his authority too, and so every now and then when he came across the occasional brave girl with more guts than sense, he found himself stuck in the middle of the same old dilemma. Hit them to defend his pride (not a chance), or let them walk all over him (even less of a chance).

Bryan began to step forwards, dangerously slowly, and Tala snickered as he saw that the falcon had reached the same old compromise he always did and chose to go with option three: Intimidation. Coming to a stop before her he spread his shoulders wide, narrowed his eyes coldly and, pointing a threatening finger in her face, said lowly, "I am _nobody's_ dog."

To her credit, she maintained eye contact and barely even flinched.

Tala was mildly impressed.

Clearing his throat to clear the tension (lest Bryan walk about in a huff all day), Tala made a show of checking his watch and shifting his rucksack around. "Well, I think we've wasted enough time here," he said authoritatively. As he spoke Bryan took a few steps back again and began irritatedly rummaging around in his pockets for his cigarettes. "It's time we started moving again and found this damned safe-point."

Ian groaned dramatically. "You know, I still can't believe that stupid old man did this to us. _To us!_ Has he forgotten who we even _are?_ As soon as I find Dickenson I'm gonna…"

Tala rolled his eyes as Ian spewed out a number of imaginative threats which everyone present knew he'd never act on, not really. Hearing some snickering to the side, he glanced over to Mariam and Joseph who were talking and laughing behind their hands and looked like they were sharing a jolly good joke… at he and his team's expense. Tala raised a cold eyebrow at them.

"Oh, no," the green haired boy said, taking note of the cold glare that was being leveled at him, "we're not laughing _at_ you –"

"– Well, we are," Mariam tinkered.

"Heh, it's just, _we've_ found the safe point already," he continued smugly.

"Yeah, ages ago," Mariam said, flicking her hand about nonchalantly. "It's about a half-hour's walk that way," she said, gesturing in roughly the same direction Tala and his team were headed. "It's this cute little log cabin – can't miss it!"

Tala stared off for a moment in the direction Mariam pointed in, but when he turned back to look at her, she and her brother were walking in the opposite direction. His sharp blue eyes narrowed suspiciously, not entirely believing them. "So," he called, "you two are walking _away_ from the safe point because…?"

The boy spun around. "'Cause we're heading back to regroup with the rest of our team," he said lazily.

Mariam looked back over her shoulder at them. "Yeah, didn't I tell you already? Our leader sent us ahead." Then she twisted around and grinned at them, "Say, why don't you boys go on ahead to the cabin and... cozy the place up a little for our arrival. Get a fire started or something." Wouldn't you know it, she even had the nerve to wink at Bryan.

"Don't bother."

Mariam blinked in surprise, but then smirked and rolled her eyes at the sound of the voice that called out through the trees behind her. Beside her, Joseph laughed, calling, "so that big oaf didn't slow you down too much then, eh Ozuma?"

"Nah," Mariam snarked, "I'll bet Ozuma just ditched him."

Tala placed an irritated hand on his hip as he watched this pair's double-act play out. Over their shoulders, he saw two figures emerge from between the trees. The first was a tall and bulky dark-skinned man with a mop of dark blonde hair. The second was a shorter, but sterner looking boy with a shock of red and black hair. Both of these people, Tala noted, shared Mariam and Joseph's strange emerald eyes.

"Ya know, Mariam, you've got a real heartless streak," the taller of the two said. "But Ozuma ain't like that – he'll stand by me through thick and thin."

Tala watched as the boy he assumed was called Ozuma stopped in his tracks for a moment and glanced up at his companion with an expression somewhere between mild confusion and distaste. "...Don't say that again with quite so much… passion."

Mariam and Joseph laughed outright at the amusingly broken expression on their large teammate's face while the short dual-haired boy placed his hands in his pockets and walked forwards, shaking his head slightly at their joviality. Glancing upwards, he caught sight of Tala and his team. The redhead, sensing another round of introductions on their way, motioned his team forwards – but not without sending the now-smoking Bryan, who was still glaring at the girl with blue hair, a look that clearly said, '_be nice'._

––––––––––––––––––––

On the floor of the cabin, Tala punched at his rolled up sleeping bag and shifted himself into a more comfortable position. Head resting on it like a pillow, arms thrown behind his head, one leg lazily crossed over the other; much better. Turning his head slightly to the side, Tala watched through the window as the inky skies took on an orange glow with the onset of evening. Sighing, he spared a moment to enjoy the comfortable atmosphere.

The log cabin was small – quaint, even – but more than roomy enough for the eight of them to sleep in without any invasion of personal space. There were four windows, two at the front and another two at the back, and the charming wooden floor and log walls were a welcome change to the tents Tala and his team had slept in the night before. In the middle of the room was a small pit in which there was a small fire burning, casting a warm glow on the room and its occupants.

Glancing towards the corner of the room he watched as Ian and Joseph chatted, daring little grins on both their faces. In fact, it looked rather more like they were scheming – forming a united front against the tyranny of tall people, perhaps? Tala smirked at the sight and shook his head lightly at their suspiciously hushed voices, the only source of noise inside the room besides the gentle crackling of the fire, and the periodic _woosh_ from outside the cabin, followed quickly by a sharp _ch-thunk_.

Spencer and the big guy from the other team, Dunga, were chopping wood with an axe they'd found amongst the supplies in the cabin. All it took was a fallen log in their path earlier on that afternoon for the two shift it and form a friendship based on muscle. Or maybe friendship was too strong a word. Regardless, the two were currently outside after Dunga posed some sort of competition to see which of them was stronger, to which Spencer politely acquiesced. Judging by the sounds of frustrated grunting and a rising temper, Tala guessed that Spencer was winning at... whatever it was they were doing out there. And, really, this was no surprise. As far as the whale was concerned, what you saw was exactly what you got.

The third piece of muscle that _might_ have been included in their contest, had he made more of an effort at being social, was currently sat in the corner of the room opposite the midgets with a black cloud hanging over his head. Bryan – back up against the wall, elbows upon his knees and a slight scowl on his face – was twiddling an unlit cigarette between his fingers. Tala didn't have to be a mind reader to know what his pale-haired friend was thinking. There were no newsstands at which he could waste his money and feed his habit up in these mountains, and the thought hadn't crossed his mind until Ian mentioned it rather gleefully earlier that afternoon. Two weeks. Two packs – one of which he was almost half-way through already.

Now, Bryan wasn't nearly a pack-a-day man, not yet. But even Tala could do the math.

No doubt the falcon blader was trying to figure out his best course of action.

Almost as if he could feel Tala's amused gaze upon him, Bryan lifted cool grey eyes and leveled Tala with a glare. Slowly, the smallest of dry smirks crept around his face in spite of himself. "I don't need it," he grunted, a little too defiantly.

"Sure," Tala replied with a cool grin, not believing him for a second.

Bryan shook his purple-grey head and, tender to the point of being ridiculous, placed the cigarette back into its pack – but not before shooting a cold glare at the blue-haired girl in the centre of the room.

Ah, Mariam; the other contributing factor to Bryan's black cloud. There weren't many people that Bryan failed to intimidate and, surprisingly, she fell into this small category of people. It was irrational, but whenever it happened, Bryan felt threatened and immediately threw up his defenses. Tala snickered as he realized that Bryan's agitated state was no doubt amplifying his need for a smoke.

The girl in question was propped up on her stomach in front of the fire. Elbows nestled in to her sleeping bag, she was expertly peeling an apple with a small knife and taking great care to ensure that the peel continued on in one long, twisting, unbroken spiral. She was quite oblivious to the fact that the was on the receiving end of a few rather icy glares. Either that, or she was doing a good job of disregarding them entirely.

The captain of their team, Ozuma, was off to the side of the room. He, too, was lying on the floor with his arms thrown back and his legs crossed in the air just like Tala, but his eyes were closed and the redhead wasn't sure if he was sleeping or not.

With a comfortable yawn, Tala began to think about actually getting into his sleeping bag. He watched disinterestedly as Mariam, having now finished peeling her apple, pushed herself up off the ground and stood up to admire her work. She'd just walked over to the open window to throw the peel out when there was a dejected cry from outside, followed shortly by a series of stomps and the door being swung open.

The first to walk through was Dunga. He trudged in miserably and popped himself down on the side of the room furthest away from everyone else, his face displaying an amusing expression somewhere between outrage and depression. Ozuma's eyes cracked open at his arrival and he raised an eyebrow. Not sleeping after all.

Spencer entered the room shortly afterwards with a slightly self-satisfied – although not cruel – smile on his face. He sat down on the floor next to Tala and leant back against the wall.

Mariam, placing a hand on her hip and putting two and two together, laughed. "Oh Dunga," she snarked, walking over to him and prodding him in the side of the head, "I hope you didn't completely embarrass yourself out there."

The big guy made no reply other than to glare up at her and, if Tala wasn't mistaken, fight the slight quivering of his bottom lip.

The girl, seeing how seriously he'd taken his defeat, rolled her eyes. "Don't be so hard on yourself, you big baby. It was just a game, right?" She smiled at him. "You're still the strongest in our village."

He looked up at that, getting teary eyed. "Mariam!" he wailed, apparently crying into her knees as she stood there trying not to drop her perfectly peeled apple. Tala raised his eyebrows in surprise. Sensitive guy.

Mariam rolled her eyes again, tapping him on the head a little awkwardly. "There there, big guy," she said. She stifled a laugh and looked over to her captain who, likewise, was smirking slightly and shaking his head. Apparently, Dunga didn't take defeat well, especially if it threatened his position as strongest in the village.

"Hey," Tala called, curiosity getting the better of him, "where are you guys from, anyhow?"

Ozuma's eyes travelled over to the Russian captain and he said, "Southeast Europe."

"Yeah," Mariam piped in, still patting her teammate on the head consolingly, "from this old little Macedonian island off the coast of Greece."

"Ah... makes sense," Tala said, nodding.

"Why?" Mariam asked, eyes sparkling in the light of the fire.

"Just, your clothes. I thought they looked…Aztecy?" Tala said, wiggling the fingers of his left hand in the air as tried to think of the word before lazily propping it back behind his head. "But your accents aren't nearly south American enough, so there's no way."

Ozuma chuckled lightly, "You know your Geography, I'll give you that."

Tala smirked wryly, "Yeah, I get by."

"So how about you guys, then?" Mariam asked, finally easing her legs out of Dunga's grip. The big guy had calmed down some now, it seemed. "You don't have much of an accent at all, but I'd guess that you're European too. Somewhere north, maybe?" she said, her eyes dropping down to the floor and resting on Tala's fur-lined coat by his feet – the coat which, not surprisingly, he hadn't worn once since leaving the airport.

"Russia," Tala stated.

Even as he said it, Tala could have sworn he saw a flash of _something_ light up in the eyes of the Saint Shield's captain. The dual-haired blader slowly pushed himself up off the ground into a sitting position, which Tala's slightly paranoid mind told him was a decidedly defensive move.

But whatever Tala might have sensed hanging in the air, it was clearly missed by the girl. "Ah, Russia," she said excitedly, "we were there about a year ago, and – oh, maybe you guys might know a little more about it! When we were there we tried checking out some beyblading competition, but no one would give us the time of day. Literally, almost no one in the country had any interest in 'blading. We thought it was real strange, until –"

"– Mariam," Ozuma broke in.

"Oh shush, I'm telling the story, you can butt in later," she said, waving an impatient hand at her captain. She sat herself down in front of the fire opposite Tala and continued. "Anyway, we heard some rumors, pretty dark ones too, about this beyblading institute in Moscow. I think they called it –"

"– _Mariam," _Ozuma said with a little more urgency.

"Fine, what? What is it?" she said, tearing her eyes away from Tala. The redhead watched as Ozuma, with a stern expression on his face, raised his eyebrow a little pointedly before flashing his emerald eyes toward Tala and Spencer ever so briefly. Her eyes followed his and, as the light of understanding dawned in her eyes, Tala could have sworn he heard the penny drop. "_Oh..._" she breathed.

A heavy kind of silence descended on the room in which nobody knew quite what to say.

To Tala's right, Spencer was watching the trails of smoke from the fire dance up through the air, twisting and turning about until they found the open window and were carried away by the breeze. The chattering in the corner had stopped. Occasionally Mariam and Ozuma exchanged a look with Dunga on the opposite side of the fire, and Tala could see that they were distinctly less comfortable than they had been five minutes ago.

He glanced over at Bryan to the far left who was, surprisingly, the most at ease out of anyone. He had… melted, it seemed. Slouching low against the wall, Bryan was absentmindedly forming guitar chords with his left hand, and watching with a satisfied smirk on his face as Mariam's confidence seemed to diminish by the second. She wasn't afraid of him before. But then, she hadn't really known who he was.

Just then, the silence in the room was interrupted but the loudest, most exaggerated snore Tala had ever heard in his life.

Almost comically in unison, the occupants of the cabin turned their heads to the corner of the room and saw Ian standing over the unconscious form of Joseph. The pint-sized crimson eyed blader prodded the sleeping boy with the toe of his boot and scoffed at Mariam, "your brother's a fuckin' lightweight – can't stay up for shit."

And just like that, the tension in the room evaporated. It was silly, really, but everyone started laughing a little lightheadedly – even Bryan gave a chuckle, and he hadn't had anything but a scowl on his face all afternoon.

Ian trudged over to his sleeping bag next to Bryan and flopped down on top of it, propping his chin up with his hands. "It was called the Abbey, by the way," he said. "Balkov Abbey."

Mariam nodded. "Right," she said, a little awkwardly, glancing around at each member of the Blitzkrieg Boys in turn.

"Don't do that," Spencer said, suddenly. His eyes were still watching the smoke in the air.

Her emerald eyes travelled over to him. "...Do what?"

"That," he said. "Look at us like that. Like we're some kind of... tragic case." Then he looked down at her and smiled. "We're not."

She blinked at him mistily, saying nothing.

"Well, that makes a first for the day," Tala snarked from the floor. Her eyes flicked over to him now, and he could see that she didn't follow. "You," he clarified, "being rendered speechless." From the corner of the room both Bryan and Ian snickered a little cruelly and Mariam sent them a sharp glare. Only this time, it was marred a little by her incredulity.

"...Is there any truth to them?" Ozuma asked.

"The rumors?" He nodded. Tala pushed himself up off the floor and leant his weight back on to the palm of his hands. Fixing his clear blue eyes on Ozuma, he said calmly, "I don't know what you've heard, but I'd be willing to bet it doesn't even scratch the surface of what happened inside those walls."

There were a few seconds during which Ozuma and Mariam exchanged another look, their imaginations running away with them, no doubt.

"Unless," Bryan chipped in from the corner, "you've heard those rumors about it being some kind of dodgy underground brothel where we were all sex-slaves. 'Cause in that case, you couldn't be further from the truth." Everyone in the room looked around at him disbelievingly – even Tala and Ian were a little wide-eyed. "What?" Bryan said, his eyebrows furrowing defensively. He turned directly to Tala, "you haven't heard that one? Fuck, I don't even live in Russia anymore and I've heard it!"

Tala broke out into a laugh. "Bry, I don't know who you've been talking to, but I have _never_ heard any rumors like that – and believe me I've heard some pretty imaginative ones."

"Eurgh, tell me about it," Ian cried, pulling a disgusted expression.

Spencer chuckled lightly. "Hey, Ian," he called, leaning forward to look around his captain at the snake wielder, "d'you remember the one I told you about that was floating around St. Petersburg last Spring?"

"Eurghh, no! Stop it right there! Man, Spence, I'd forgotten all about it until now!" Ian cried, covering his ears. He completely ignored Bryan when he began to prod a him with the toe of his boot, demanding to know what the rumor was.

Tala and Spencer snickered at them, and when they looked back around, they noticed that Mariam and Ozuma were looking at them as though they'd grown a second head. "...What?" Tala asked, smirking lightly.

Mariam was the first to speak. "But, you – you all seem so… normal!"

There was a moment in which Bryan caught Tala's eye and the falcon blader gave him one of those small, rare, genuine smiles, and Tala knew he was remembering that conversation on the bench they had about this time last week during which Bryan scoffed at Tala's complete incredulity at being… normal.

"Well, almost," Tala said smugly.

"It's all a matter of perspective," Spencer added thoughtfully. "And choice. Walk the streets in Moscow and chances are you'll find some old Abbey boys who've decided to shoulder their scars and carry the curse – even now, when they have no reason to. The only difference between them and us is that we've chosen our paths. Haven't we Ian?" he asked, with a sidewards glance and the dark purple haired blader.

"Damn straight we have."

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><p><em><strong>AN: **Bleaurrghh, so I had to cut short and end there since I didn't wanna drag, and its longer than most other chapters as it is!  
>Anyhow, here we have the Saint Shields. :D Y'know, this team need more love – they're SO much fun, especially Mariam haha. xD Will be picking up the next Chapter with them, but this time with a little more Saint Shield history to balance things up, so stay tuned!<br>As always, any **reviews are very much appreciated**, I love to hear your feedback. And guest reviews are enabled and both welcomes and encouraged.  
><em>

_Thanks for reading! :)  
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_**Next chapter:** Saturday  
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_~ Indie  
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	21. Roughing It

_**A/N: **Yes, I know, long overdue. Sorry everyone. *hangs head in shame* BUT, I had quite a bit of fun writing this. So I hope it's enjoyable for you, too, and that'll excuse its tardiness. XD _

_As always, thanks to the reviewers for the last chapter and any others (LOL, lookin' at you Desastrus xD); **Rangerapprentice, country-grl20, Springingfever, Desastrus, some stuff, Aquila Tempestas **and_**_ SgtPeppersLHCB._**_ (Holy crap this has been a good week... you guys! T_T) __I don't always find the time to reply to reply to you, but I LOVE you guys so much. xD_

_This chapter takes off straight after the last, so feel free to glance back and refresh your memories. Our B-Boys weren't supposed to cross over into the next chapter but they're such screen-hoggers. x3  
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><p><strong>Chapter Twenty: Roughing It.<strong>

"And what path might that be?"

Ice met emerald as Tala's eyes flashed over to the other captain. He found that there was nothing he could read in those mysterious green depths. Cool and collected, but there was definitely a spark of something there, though – whether it was a challenge or just curiosity, Tala couldn't tell.

Tala raised an eyebrow. "Whatever the hell path we want."

Ozuma nodded, and then his lips turned up into a smirk. That expression was something Tala understood – it was grudging respect and acceptance. Whatever the boy might have heard before, it was disregarded now as he leant back on his elbows and surveyed the Russian team one by one. Clean slates all round.

"Anyway, enough about us," Spencer said, stepping outside of himself and breaking the silence. "What about you?"

Mariam shifted back onto her stomach again and propped her chin up. "Hm..Us? What about us?"

The blonde shrugged. "Anything. Where you're from, what you do… whatever."

"There's… really nothing that exciting to tell," Ozuma said, kicking back and laying back down on top of his sleeping bag again.

Bryan snorted in derision. Tala noted that he was fidgeting with his zippo lighter now, flicking the top open and closed and creating an annoyingly repetitive, metallic rhythm. "Come on," he grunted. "Entertain us. When you've been a goddamn child soldier all your life, even nothing is something new."

Tala rolled his eyes. "Feel free to ignore our agonizing musician in the corner."

The falcon scoffed, raising an eyebrow. "...our _what?"_

"You heard. Bry, just have a damn smoke already. You get all… poetic when you're craving and, frankly, it pisses me off."

The only answer was a defiant glare from hard, stony eyes. Tala smirked. Oh, Bryan wanted that cigarette, but he was damned if he was gonna be told that he needed it. The falcon stubbornly stowed the lighter in his pocket and folded his arms, kicking Ian roughly when the pint-sized blader began to snicker.

Tala turned back around the people before the fire and picked up where Spencer left off. "You're obviously 'bladers. But are you a sponsored team… or do you teach, travel?"

"We travel," Mariam said, eyes sparkling in the firelight. A smile crept around her mouth now that the atmosphere had softened into one of normality.

"...In a sense," Ozuma added. He smirked, almost as if he was enjoying some kind of private joke. "Mariam – what is it that Joseph likes to call us, again?"

The blue haired girl erupted into a peal of laughter and she glanced wryly over her shoulder at the small, sleeping boy. Her smirk widened. "He says we're secret seekers."

"Ah, yes that's it," Ozuma said, his smirk widening to a grin as he shifted around into a more comfortable position. Arms back behind his head with one leg crossed over the ankle seemed to do it.

Mariam sobered up, and cleared her throat. "We travel around chasing old legends," she said, turning to Tala and Spencer in explanation.

"More specifically," the dual-haired captain said, eyes closed, "old legends that we think might have to do with sacred spirits and bit-beasts."

"Oh, really now?" Tala said, raising an intrigued eyebrow. He glanced sideways and saw that the blonde looked just as intrigued as he.

Tala's interest in this team was piqued, a little grudgingly, right from the beginning. They were the first beybladers he'd come in close proximity to besides the other boys from the Abbey. Of course, there were also the teams they'd encountered at the Championships in Moscow, but they didn't count. The circumstances were… different. There, Tala and his team had been enemies to each of them – but here, they were free to be whatever they felt. And right now the redhead felt curious. He wondered vaguely what it might be like to be them... to have the freedom of going anywhere they wanted, with no other reason than because they wanted to. Smirking, he glanced sideways at Spencer, knowing that he would catch that rarely seen spark in his pale blue eyes.

Out of anyone included in their circle in the Abbey, Spencer was the only one with enough nerve to have ever voiced out his curiosity and desire for what lay outside those grey stone walls. You wouldn't think it to look at him, forever quiet and unreadable – but behind the wall of silence lay hopes and dreams and a spirit of adventure.

"Actually, that's why we were in Russia last year," Mariam continued.

"Yes, you mentioned." Spencer shifted slightly, leaning forward. "Whereabout in Russia?"

"Oh, all over," she replied with a lazy flick of the wrist. "For a couple months or so in the summer. And," she added jokingly, "I have to say I've had warmer summers. But anyway, we went to the Averinka treasure cave, to those strange stacked pyramids near Lake Baikal, the ruins at Arkaim –"

"– Russia's own stonehenge," Spencer interjected.

Mariam's smile brightened. "Yes. Coincidentally, we've seen the real stonehenge in Britain, too. But I prefer the site in Arkaim – it's more… mystical looking. Oh! Ozuma," she said, swatting him on the leg excitedly, "what was the name of that place with all the paintings on the walls?"

"Hn? Oh, erm.." the captain grunted, frowning. His voice was heavy. Tala smirked – must've drifted off into a comfortable half-sleep. "Kapova cave. I think."

"Yes, that's the one," Mariam said, snapping her fingers. "All those drawings on the walls... I swear to you, we could have found something there," she said, sending a half-hearted glare at her captain, which went quite unnoticed seeing as his eyes were still closed. "There were pictures of all kinds of animals and beasts… aah, and then there was that salt-lake. What was it called, Ozuma?"

The captain groaned. He opened his eyes and propped himself back up into a sitting position. "I don't know, Mariam. Lake… something complicated. Began with B, I think."

"...Baskunchak?" Spencer offered.

"Does it have all those logs sticking out of it?" Spencer nodded. "Yes, that'll be the one, then! It was all dried up when we went but still, it was so open and wide and white and… " she shook her head and smiled. "It was something else." Spencer watched the girl as she stared into the fire, remembering all the things she'd seen, igniting his dormant thirst for sights and wonders, too. Her eyes wandered up to meet his. "You seem to know quite a bit about places like these."

He nodded modestly, smiling. "A little."

Tala scoffed. "A little?" He punched the whale condescendingly on the shoulder while his eyes flashed over to Mariam wryly. "Spencer here has always been our team's little adventurer at heart."

Spencer shrugged his captain's hand away and raise an eyebrow. Little? There was nothing _little_ about him, thank you very much. "Go ahead and mock, just because I have more vision than you," he said sideways with a quiet smirk.

He chuckled, combed his fingers through his hair and shrugged his shoulders. "I have vision, too… I'd love to travel," Tala said over the warm crackling embers of the fire.

Ozuma looked at him, the flames reflecting unusual colours in his strange emerald eyes. "Have you been anywhere before?"

"No," Tala sighed. Then he smirked dryly. "I've never even seen outside of Russia before, until now."

"That's a shame," Mariam said wistfully. "It's a big world out there...there's so much to see. Hey – you should come travel with us after the tournament finishes." Her eyes were sparkling and sincere as she spoke, "We're planning on exploring some Tibetan ruins next, aren't we Ozuma."

"Yes we are," the captain of the Saint Shields reaffirmed. "Perhaps we'll find another forgotten legend. You'd be more than welcome to join us, all of you," he said, facing Tala and Spencer again.

Tala smiled. "That would be nice. I'll be sure to think about it." He chanced a glance up to Spencer, who was also nodding.

"...Oh, hey look. It's getting really dark out, now." Mariam's eyes looking toward the window. True enough, the sky was a dark, rich inky blue now save for the soft, languid glow of twilight at the horizon. Her eyebrows furrowed up. "I've just thought of something."

Tala raised an eyebrow. "You didn't hurt yourself, I hope."

Ozuma snorted, and she rolled her eyes with an 'oh ha ha' but ignored Tala's otherwise provoking words. "What happens if a team gets lost and doesn't make it to their safe-point before dark?"

Tala exchanged a look with the whale and they shrugged at her in unison.

Mariam pouted and thought about it for a moment before shrugging too and wiggling into her sleeping bag. "Oh well, it doesn't matter. The maps were really simple anyway – you'd have to be pretty darn inexperienced to get lost. Or just plain stupid. I guess they'd deserve it."

**–––––––––––––––––**

"Oh man... we are _so_ lost!"

"_Hey! Hello?"_

"I wish you'd stop shouting out like that, Rachel!"

"Oh shush, 'Rique – _Hello-o!"_

"Shush yourself! What if something hears you?"

"That's the whole point since we need to find help. We can't be _that_ far away from the other team –"

"– We can't be that far away from some… some horrible, carnivorous, wild mountain bear, either," the blonde cried, throwing his hands in the air.

"Christ, Enrique, there _are_ no bears out here!" She stomped her foot argumentatively, rolling her eyes. "Don't you think we would have some across one by now if there were –"

"– For God's sake, would you two just _cut it out!"_ Johnny snapped, his strained, angry tone contrasting strongly with his body language. His usually strong, arrogant shoulders were downcast and he was pacing rather nervously around the clearing, twisting the map about in his hands this way and that. But trying to orient himself in the dark was quite hopeless. Tempers were running high while _his_ were only diminishing by the second.

"Hey, don't start shouting at me just because _you_ got us lost, Johnny!"

"Me?" Johnny blinked, taking a step back at the slightly hysterical vehemence in the Italian's voice.

"Yes, you! You're supposed to be leading us, aren't you?"

"I – I am leading you!" he spluttered.

"Yeah – in circles, maybe," Enrique cried. He ran both hands through his blonde curls. The next words came out of his mouth with all the coherence and consistency of verbal diarrhea. "Now it's dark and we're still not there yet and we can't read the map and there isn't a damn thing we can do about it and, and... And we can't find the safe-point by shouting about it!"

Oliver sighed despondently and brought two dainty hands to his forehead, rubbing his temples. He closed his tired lilac eyes which, beforehand, had been dashing to and fro between the other members of this team like he was watching a tennis match. The team which was falling to pieces before they'd even gotten anywhere. And now Enrique had taken Johnny's ego and his leadership abilities, thrown them on the dry, muddy ground and spat on them. He had no idea how the new captain would take this, but Oliver held his breath and braced himself because he knew there was no way Johnny would take it well.

"...You're right. This isn't getting us anywhere."

Oliver's eyes just about popped right out of his head. Glancing over at the blonde and brunette, he saw that they weren't faring off much better either.

Johnny chewed his lip and stared off into the distance for a moment, his brows crushed together in thought and concern. Then his eyes hardened in determination and he walked right past Oliver and stalked off into the trees. The petite French blader twisted around, watching his retreating back. He blinked. For a split second there, he thought he caught a glint of Robert in his eyes.

"Johnny? Wh… where are you going?"

The Scot brusquely waved Enrique off. "Tryn'a get us some light. Stay where you are."

"...Well he's not going to find any light _there_, is he?" Rachel heckled once he was out of earshot, folding her arms and flicking a mass of dark, tousled curls back over her shoulder.

"…I think he's buckled under the pressure," Enrique whispered, nodding in agreement.

Oliver sighed at them both. "I'm not so sure, you two… I think he's got a plan." Rachel and Enrique both raised an eyebrow at him. He rolled his eyes, but they did it so comically in unison that he couldn't help but laugh a little lightly, too. "I think we should at least try and have a little more faith in him."

Rachel sighed while Enrique snorted. "Come on, Oli."

"Don't 'come on, Oli' me, Enri," he said, folding his arms. "Your head's still attached to your shoulders, isn't it? – even after you trampled all over his leadership skills."

"… I guess."

"Johnny _is_ trying –"

"– Oh, he can be very _trying,"_ Rachel muttered petulantly.

"Look, Robert wouldn't have chosen him if he thought he couldn't do it," Oliver reasoned to them both. Which was true. The lime haired blader had complete faith in Robert, so by extension, it was only fair that he should have the same amount in Johnny. And not only as a captain but as a friend too.

"I suppose… but – but he's only captain because Rachel voted it!" he remembered, turning around to glare at her accusingly, as if this was the real reason they were lost in the mountains right now.

She laughed it off, a little patronizingly. "Robert was going to make Johnny captain anyway, he said so. I suppose you'd rather have been captain yourself but, who knows, you might've lead us to a bear by now." She widened her dark eyes dramatically.

"Funny, two minutes ago you were telling me that bears don't even exist."

"They don't," she said mischievously, tucking some stray strands behind her ear. "Oh, look, Johnny's back." She peered over Oliver's shoulder, her dark greenish grey eyes lighting up with something between interest and amusement. Oliver frowned. He had a vague feeling that she was enjoying their problematic situation a little more than she ought to be.

Turning around, Oliver saw Johnny marching back over too them. He looked like a man on a mission and had a bundle of thick, longish branches thrown over his shoulder. The Scot's lavender eyes flashed over to Enrique as he approached and the Italian took a reflexive step back. But all Johnny did was deposit the sticks roughly in the blonde's arms. "Hold these for a sec," he uttered roughly.

Enrique breathed a slight breath of relief, but then his face crumpled in confusion when he saw Johnny pull out his beyblade and launcher. "Uhh… Johnny? I don't think this is any time to be practicing…"

Johnny snorted and rolled his eyes. He attached his blade to the launcher and slipped the ripcord through, saying, "Don't be an idiot, Enrique – I told you, I'm getting us some light." He took a step back and launched the red blade. "Salamalyon!"

Johnny's beyblade hit the ground and emitted a spire of swirling flame directly on impact. Oliver took a step back and moved to shield his face from the blaze, but found that it wasn't necessary. The inferno rose no higher than their heads and although Oliver could feel the heat crashing in waves across his face, the flames were perfectly controlled – subdued, even, despite his tense state.

Johnny had been practicing... a lot more than he'd let on.

"Okay, everyone grab a torch," Johnny said, grasping a stick out of Enrique's arms and holding the tip of it into the blaze, "and light it."

They all did exactly that.

Bending forward towards the flame, Rachel said lowly, "So I take it you have some kind of plan?"

"Yeah."

"Oh good," Enrique said, relief creeping into his voice.

"If making it up as I go along counts as a plan," Johnny said, rolling his eyes darkly. He looked frustrated.

"Well.. that's err, fine," the blonde said, "as long as Rachel stops her shouting."

"Actually, that's what I had in mind," he said gruffly. The flame receded back into the beyblade as he spoke and he held his hand out to catch it.

"What?"

"We're also splitting up. She's right, 'Rique, we can't be _that_ far away from the other team." Oliver watched as the brunette looked sharply over to the Italian, shooting him her I-told-you-so look. "And I wanna cover as much ground as we can."

"No! No no no, no way. No way in hell!" Enrique said. When Johnny glared at him, the blonde kicked it up a notch, fear making him brave. "You're not serious. We can't just go around shouting in the dark... alone! What about the –"

"– There are no bears!" Rachel said, throwing her free hand up in the air exasperatedly.

Enrique opened his mouth to argue, but Johnny cut in. "Fine! We'll go in pairs, then. Enrique," he said, turning to speak to him in a quiet voice laced with frustration and mockery, "in the case of a _bear attack_, who would you rather be with? Me, Rach or Oliver."

"You," he said immediately.

"Right. We'll go this way; you two go that way. Walk in a straight line and keep shouting. If you find anyone, just back track and you'll find us, okay? We'll do the same, so keep listening. If we don't find anything after about three-hundred yards, head back and we'll regroup and try another direction. Oh," he added, "and try not to burn the forest down, we wanna find the other team, not murder them."

"Right," Oliver said, nodding. Despite Johnny's cutting tone, he felt more at ease now that the auburn haired Scot had taken charge, even if it was a slightly desperate plan at best. Turning around, Oliver and Rachel started off in one direction while Johnny and Enrique went in the other.

It was quiet, and Oliver guessed his nerves were making everything seem more sinister. He breathed deep, inhaling the smell of pines and earth and smoke from their improvised torches. He called out to the darkness a couple of times, but then stopped and frowned when he realized it was only him that was doing it. No surprise there.

"...Rachel. You're doing your not-doing-what-you've-been-told thing again."

She blinked distractedly, and then smiled. "Oh, am I. Sorry, force of habit I guess."

"I'm sure you wish you hadn't come with us, now," he said with a small smile.

"Don't be silly. I haven't done anything this exciting in months." Oliver blanched, and she laughed at him. "I'm joking! A little. Sorry, but I haven't been lost anywhere in ages. Oliver, you know what I'm like... danger and excitement just tend to go hand-in-hand for me," she murmured, her eyes scanning the darkness before them.

"Yeah, I know, you're just like Johnny in that respect."

"But at least he's grown out of it though, right?" she said, looking sideways at him sardonically.

He laughed and had to agree. They continued walking on forwards, shouting out occasionally, when a thought occurred to him. "Rachel?"

"Yes?"

"Should we know how far three-hundred yards is…?"

"Well, I've got a rough idea, but – hold on," she paused. "I think I can hear something."

Oliver froze – and then brightened, hearing a voice calling out to them. "Hey, hello? Can you hear us? We're over here!" they cried, and Oliver felt the tension leave his shoulders as whoever it was told them that they were coming.

In the distance, Oliver caught the bright gleam of a flashlight flickering in and out of sight between the trees. Soon enough though, the person wielding the flashlight came within their sphere of light from the fire-torches. He was tall and built, with longish blonde hair, a baseball cap and a white bandage over his nose. He had the flashlight in one hand and a little shovel in the other. Oliver thought there was something vaguely familiar about him, but he wasn't certain.

"Hey, are you guys alright?" he said, waving the flashlight around. He had a distinctly American accent. Oh, perhaps he'd bladed in the finals in Moscow? "What the hell are you doing all the way out here?" Then he blinked and grinned arrogantly. "Oh, wait. You must be from the other team that we've been waiting around for all day. What happened, did you guys get –"

"– We didn't get lost, actually, if _that's_ what you're implying," Oliver said huffily, his pride prickling. He was grateful that this guy came to help, but he would _not_ be spoken down to by some cocky American. "We were just, ah…"

"– Taking the scenic route," Rachel smiled peevishly, stepping forward with a raised eyebrow. "But it was a little longer then we'd expected. I'd ask you the same question, but I'll spare you the embarrassment of answering."

Oliver glanced at her, confused, and then glanced back at the American who had turned an amusing shade of pink. Arching his neck to see, Oliver spotted the small shovel that he had hastily hidden behind his back, as well as a trail of what appeared to be toilet-tissue streaming out from his rucksack – perhaps from being hurriedly stuffed in. Oh. Oh no.

"What? You mean you were… in – in the woods?" The delicate French blader could hardly believe it. It was so… primitive! Wasn't their a bathroom at their next safe-point? They had one by their little wooden lodge last night – granted, it was one of those horrible portable toilets, but still…

The blonde spluttered. "I'm not – I don't – it's got nothin' to do with you what I was doing! Hey, ya know if I wasn't out here you'd still be running about all on your –"

"– Yes, about that," Rachel stepped in, quite composed in comparison to the other two. "Look, this is all very awkward, so… if you can ignore the fact that we _are_ actually embarrassingly lost, we'll ignore the fact that we interrupted you while you were out taking a shit – yes?"

Oliver cringed. To be the one who mentiond the elephant in the room by name. But the American didn't skip a beat.

"Yeah yeah, fine, whatever," the blonde said, biting briefly at his thumbnail, still red in the face and all too eager to move away from the subject of his recent activities. "So err, what're your names then? N' where's the rest of your team?"

"Well, I'm Oliver," he said, pointing to himself, "and this is Rachel. We're the Majestics, and –"

"The Majestics? That European team, right, made up of pampered, snobby rich kids? No surprise you're all lost, then" he snorted.

Oliver blinked, stunned at Michael's words. How dare he! Rachel, however, just laughed. "...Him I can understand, Rachel. But you? Just why are _you_ laughing?" he asked with some contempt.

"Because he's kind of right, Oliver" she said, trying – and failing – to hide her amusement. "And because, well, he's not talking about _me_ since I've not even 'bladed with you before. Look, it's not important anyway, we need to head back and find Johnny and Enrique. We split up," she added, turning back to the American.

"You split up?" he said, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. He lifted his cap off his head and ran his fingers through it, saying, "Jeez, better hope they're not too far away."

"They won't be," Rachel said. "We split off in opposite directions, all we have to to is walk straight."

"'Right then, let's go find them," Michael said, gesturing to Rachel to take the lead. "Oh, I'm Michael, by the way. Michael Parker, American champion and captain of the All Stars," he said with a cocky grin and a wink.

Oliver rolled his eyes and followed behind them. This guy… he had a faintly Enrique-vibe about him.

**–––––––––––––––––**

"._..This?_ This is the safe point?" Enrique said incredulously, stopping in his tracks.

Johnny laughed cruelly. He could've sworn he heard the blonde idiot's jaw hit the ground – and as the safe-point came within sight, it was clear why.

Last night, their safe-point had been a little wooden hut on the cliff-side. Small, but warm and with four walls and a roof that would protect them from the elements. There was only one room and in the middle was this stone-lined pit for a fire. There were food and sleeping supplies there (sleeping-bags, blankets etc), as well as an envelope Dickenson's instructions for the next day. Behind the hut was one of those porta-loos you'd expect to find at a music festival or communal camp-site. It safe-point was by no-means luxury, but Johnny had seen worse and dealt with it quite happily.

But this… this safe-point was an improvised outdoor campsite. It was positioned under a chiseled out groove in the mountainside and sheltered by the trees. There was a warm, roaring flame in the fire pit, but no tents – although the All Stars had set up a number of tarps. Down to earth, practical, and perfectly exposed. Just the way camping ought to be.

"Yep," the other captain said, smirking. He was clearly enjoying himself.

"But…" the blonde looked lost. "But where's the safety?"

Again, Johnny laughed. "Enrique, quit being such a soft touch. It's pathetic."

The Italian sent him a glare, but its intensity was marred by the worry that was clear on his face.

"Don't worry, 'Rique, you'll be fine," Rachel said with a smirk, elbowing him in the side lightly. She was probably enjoying his obvious discomfort at much as Johnny was. "Besides, we're already ruled out bears as a legitimate risk, haven't we?"

Oliver, the other pampered soft touch on their team, was eyeing the campsite with some trepidation in his lilac eyes, but kept silent.

"Why are you even freaking out?" Michael said, raising an eyebrow. "Where did you sleep last night?"

"In a little wooden cabin," Johnny said, smirking.

"Seriously?"

"Yep."

"Jeez, talk about favoritism. We didn't even have a cliff thing like this," he said, waving his hand at it as they came nearer, "just plain old trees. You had a frickin' chauffeur too at the airport, right?"

"Yeah."

"We had this greasy looking guy with mini-bus," Michael griped, shoving hands into his pockets. "Smelled like chinese take-out. I love chinese food – I was craving a chow mien the entire way."

"Hey, there you are Mike! You've been gone ages, bro," said a very tall, blonde, African American as they approached the group. Johnny vaguely registered the smell of burning, but dismissed it. It was probably just the fire.

"Yeah well, found some strays didn't I, Ed?"

"Oh sweet, the other team! Hey, we were starting to get worried."

Johnny felt a bristle of annoyance. "Whatever. We're here now," he said with a dismissive wave of the hand. He'd (sincerely) thanked the American captain for finding them, and that was that. He didn't want to be reminded or their recent excursions off the beaten track.

"Well well well, if it isn't Jonathon McGregor."

Johnny's lavender eyes flashed up, and then narrowed with they recognized the familiar old shade of blue. He felt an arrogant smirk creep over his face. "Emily York. What a pleasure."

"I can't even believe you're here. Is your hot-shot team _actually_ gracing us with their presence for this tournament? I thought it'd be below you," she said huffily.

"More than gracing," he snarked, folding his arms. "I thought whatever trophy we'll get from winning this would look excellent sitting on the shelf next to the one I have from last year's US open."

"Ha, dream on," the petite redhead spat. She started marching forwards. "If you think for a second that I –"

"– Hey hey hey, take it easy, Em," the blonde captain said, shoving her out of the way with his hips. Then he whispered, "Mate, be careful, she's a vicious little thing – she'll break noses at the drop of a hat."

Johnny blinked. "Pfft, you're not serious. _That_," he said, nodding at the white padded bandage over his nose, "was _her?"_

The uncomfortable, and somewhat embarrassed expression on Michael's face was all the answer Johnny needed. He'd just opened his mouth to voice just how pathetic that was when Rachel decided to invite herself into the conversation. "What was that all about Johnny?"

He smirked, looking over to the small bespectacled girl as she paced around the camp and started breathing fire down the other bulky dark-skinned guy on the All Stars team. They were peering into a pot over the fire. "Nothing much. She's just sore 'cause I won the mixed doubles final over in the States last September. Tennis," he clarified in response to the bemused look on her face.

"Oh. Okay. That's dull. I was half hoping she was a spurned ex-girlfriend or something," she replied disinterestedly.

He rolled his eyes. "No. I think I have better taste than that," he said nonchalantly, just loud enough for Emily to hear. She glared frostily.

"Oi, you – girl!" Rachel, Johnny and Rick all blinked over to the fire-side where the huge, dark, rowdy looking All Star was sitting.

Rachel raised an eyebrow. "Me?"

"Yeah. You know how t' cook?" he grunted. Johnny snorted.

"...What's your name?" she asked with a cool voice, stepping forward imperiously.

"Rick."

"Well Rick, no. I've never cooked a day in my life."

Suddenly, Oliver was on the scene. "I cook," he said, quite smugly. "Actually, I own the … that smell. Are you burning rice? _Rice!"_

"Uhh…" Rick said dumbly.

"Quick, take it off! Take the pot off the heat, you'll ruin it!"

Eddy, stunned by Oliver's sudden snappy entrance, immediately stepped forward and lifted the pot off the heat. Without covering his hand with a cloth. Even Johnny knew to avoid _that_ kind of amateur mistake.

"Ahh, shit!" he cried, dropping it immediately. It landed on the ground with a thud and tipped on its side. To his surprise, nothing spilt. Pretty burnt, apparently.

"Is everyone here an idiot? Je ne sais pas, comment sur la terre..." Oliver muttered to himself, waving his hands about irritatedly and sliding into French as he approached the fire pit. Then he began barking orders at Rick and Eddy with surprising confidence, given his earlier unease when he'd seen the safe point. Apparently, he'd switched his _chef du cuisine_ mode on.

"Right," Michael said, turning to Johnny, Rachel and Enrique with an all-American wink, "make yourselves at home."

As Rachel stepped forward and started to help Oliver bark orders just for the fun of it, Johnny slapped the blonde gruffly on the shoulders, sending him staggering forward a step or two. "Come on, quit being a baby and take one for the team, 'Rique. We'll be fine."

The Italian resisted the urge to pout, knowing that there really was no way out.

He didn't quite know that was worse, the fact that they were out in the open, or the fact that he would well and truly be roughing it for the night. Eurgh. It was going to be a long night.

* * *

><p><em><strong>IMPORTANT AN: **Well there we go. Enrique definitely has a long night ahead of him. Incidentally, I've had a long night trying to get this finished and out for you. xD Sooo, feel free to tell me how this chapter was for you (How's Rachel shaping up, is she tolerable?). Hope you like it. xD _

_PLEASE READ: and answer me in the reviews if you can (EDIT: POLL IN MY PROFILE), I'm giving you readers a choice here, and I'm quite happy to do either. Before the tournament, there's a two-week training programme that Dickenson scheduled for the 'bladers (which is where they're headed now). And then the first rounds of the tournament begins. Now here's your choice.  
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_**1)**. After the bladers reach the lodge, I'll show them meeting up and stuff, but then do a time skip, wrap these chapters up as a volume of its own, and then get on with the tournament in a shiny new, second volume (think manga, YAY XD). There were a couple of interesting scenes I'd had planned for the retreat, which I WILL publish in a kind of out-takes collection later if I go for this option, so you won't miss anything.  
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_**2)**. I proceed as planned, and go though the training retreat now. Groan.  
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_The reason I'm asking is because a lot of the action takes place during AND after the tournament, and I mean ACTION. I really really REALLY want to get to it. XDDDD So choose whatever you want, but honestly, I'd rather you went for option one. Option one gets more exciting, FASTER. What's not to like? 8D  
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_Anyway, shutting up now. I won't be updating this next Saturday, I'll give you two weeks to decide. (Gemini will be updated in the meantime, as well as a few one-shots that I've been itching to do.)  
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_**Next chapter: **Two weeks from now, on Saturday.  
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_~ Indie  
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	22. Reminder

**_A/N: _**_Hi guys, it's mee! Haha, remember? Me... Indie?.. *crickets chirping* Aha, yeah...  
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_So, yeah, you know it's been a really, really long time since your last update when **you freaking forget how to upload a chapter.** Yeah... took me a good like, seven minutes to navigate this thing. Either that or I'm just getting old. :/  
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_Anyway, a huuuuuge thanks to the reviewers of the last chapter, **Rangerapprentice, some stuff, SgtPeppersLHCB, It's me, Sprintingfever** and finally **Desastrus** for catching up, reading and reviewed a hella lot of chapters. And also to those of you who faved/followed this story while I've been off and.. not.. writing. :/  
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_No, seriously guys, I love you all so much, thank you for the support and yadda yadda, I'll let you guys read and stuff now, kept you waitin' long enough. Dx  
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* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Twenty-One: Reminder<strong>

Mystel groaned and shifted around uncomfortably on the wooden floor. It was the same predicament as always. Too hot under the blanket, but just a little too cold without it to get nice and cosy. He'd settled for sticking an arm and a leg out, but then they got a little chilly and he had to switch them around again – and he supposed that constantly alternating one's limbs wasn't exactly conducive to an excellent night's sleep. Or an excellent morning lie-in, rather.

The blonde knew it was morning because of the birdsong he could hear from outside their little wooden shack, and the slow, peaceful breathing from inside told him that he was probably the only one awake. Ah, what he wouldn't give to be sleeping soundly too.

Sighing, Mystel untangled his left leg and hips out of the blankets, pushed himself up into a sitting position and crossed his legs. Reaching his hands up to the ceiling, he stretched out his arms, his back, his neck, and yawned contentedly. Then he lazily opened his eyes and, through his mask, glanced around the room full of sleeping bodies. He frowned. Unless he was mistaken (and, honestly, he rarely was), there were far fewer sleeping bodies than there ought to have been.

Flipping lithely backwards onto his feet, Mystel scanned the room again.

Over by the burnt out fire he saw the scruffy blonde hair and heard the low, deep breathing of his captain. Lying with his back against the floor, his arms folded and one leg crossed over the other, Miguel somehow managed to look cool and in charge even while he was sleeping.

Curled up a couple of feet away from Miguel was the baby-sister of their team. Cute as a button, Matilda was snuffling and snoring softly in slumber. Her breath rhythmically shifted the wispy tendrils of pink hair that hung over and around her face ...back and forth, back and forth. A small smile crept over his face as he watched her face wrinkle up in whatever dream she was having. He hoped it was a nice one, and smirked to himself as he wondered vaguely whether their captain was the leading-man in it.

Looking back over his shoulder, he saw Brooklyn. The weirdo had decided to sleep up on the table by the window for some reason, probably to watch for little animals or something. So it was on the table where he rested now, with his back up against the wall and his chin down on his chest. A mass of fiery orange hair obscured his face entirely. He wasn't moving a single muscle or even making a single sound – it was pretty creepy and Mystel found himself wondering, once again, whether Brooklyn breathed in his sleep at all. Maybe he didn't and just entered some sort of one-with-the-universe kind of zen-mode. It wouldn't surprise him.

Mystel placed a hand on his hip. He wasn't mistaken. There wasn't a single Tiger in sight, white, pink or otherwise. Besides Matilda there was no pink at all. And that was... disappointing. Oh well. He wasn't too concerned – it looked like all their stuff was still around, so they _probably_ hadn't ditched them. Not like they had any reason to anyway.

Blowing out a lazy puff of air, Mystel shrugged and reached up a hand to remove his golden mask. With the other hand, he rubbed his eyes and poked a little gingerly at the bridge of his nose. He really preferred not to sleep with the thing on but, with the White Tigers around, he kind of had to. Thankfully though, this was the only night they had to spend together. In the envelope Matilda found nailed to the door of their shack there was, as on the previous days, a map and a letter. In it, Mr Dickenson – the crazy old bloke behind this whole being _abandoned-in-the-mountains _thing – said that today would be the last they'd spend hiking through the forest because their final safe-point was the BBA's mountain-side training facility. Maybe they'd have team dorms there or something, and he could sleep easy.

Clear blue eyes flickered over to the side of the cabin again. Mystel was quickly growing bored, and there was very little to do. The coniferous fir trees in these mountain weren't exactly abundant in anything but needles and pine-cones. That meant no foraging for fruits for his breakfast. He tapped the toes of his left foot absently on the floor, thinking of something to do.

With a sly smile creeping around his face, he decided to give his captain a wake-up call. He padded silently over to Miguel's side of the room, hopped lithely over Matilda, twisted around in the air and landed neatly next to his captain's head. He then proceeded to prod him randomly around in the face with his toe.

The platinum haired captain made a valiant attempt at ignoring Mystel's trying behavior. But it was not to be. After one or two half-asleep, half-assed swats at Mystel's foot, the captain swung out violently with his left arm. He achieved absolutely nothing besides catching Matilda harshly around the back of the head.

"Aah!" she cried, waking up with a start and kicking out in surprise. She blinked blearily and questioningly around at the two blonde males, rubbing the back of her head as she sat up.

"...What are you guys doing?"

"Yeah Mystel. _What_ are you doing?" Miguel half growled, narrowing grey-blue eyes at him. But his annoyance was heavily marred by sleep.

"Good morning to you too." The blonde chuckled. "Sorry 'Til," he added with a cheeky, apologetic grin, scratching the back of his head. She just wrinkled her nose at him with a half-hearted scolding look.

"What is it?" Miguel asked again, sitting up and leaning his weight back on one of his hands. His voice was still heavy with sleep, and he hadn't quite managed to put on his captain voice yet.

"Nothing," Mystel shrugged. "Just thought I'd grace you this morning with my beautiful face."

"...Right."

"Oh, and the White Tigers are... gone," he said, in that casual off-hand voice as though it wasn't anything important.

"Gone?" Miguel repeated.

"Yep."

"...Did they say anything?"

"If they did I didn't hear it. Already gone when I woke up."

The pink haired girl looked worried. "You don't think… they can't be onto us, can they?" Matilda said, looking between the two blonde males.

Mystel laughed it off with a wave of his hand. "How can they be?"

"Yeah, I wouldn't say so… " Miguel said, shaking his head.

"And I wouldn't worry," said an airy voice from the corner. Mystel twisted around and looked back at Brooklyn. He was awake now, apparently, and was looking absently out of the window, threading fingers through his messy orange hair. "Wherever they went," he continued, "they're on their way back."

Mystel cocked an eyebrow and strode lazily over to stand beside Brooklyn, saying, "...And just _how_ do you even _know_ that?" he asked, waving his arms around for added emphasis.

Brooklyn nodded out of the window. "The birds," he stated simply.

The blonde perched on the end of the table to peer through the window, arching his neck slightly to see over the trees. It caught his attention that the window was in pretty good condition, not grimy through lack of upkeep. He wondered vaguely whether or not these little cabins were built specifically for that Dickenson's little game. And then he remembered that he was supposed to be watching the birds, so he brought his focus to outside. He spotted a small flock of three or four little birds flying out of the tree canopy every now and then, as if they were disturbed and scared away by things passing through beneath them.

The blonde scratched the back of his head. "So... you're just assuming it's the 'Tigers?"

"No. I know it's the White Tiger team," said Brooklyn, looking at Mystel for the first time. His clear green eyes revealed a slightly puzzled look, as though he couldn't quite understand why Miguel had any cause to doubt him. "There isn't anything else large enough in these mountains to scare the birds away like that besides us humans. All larger animals will have been cleared away by the BBA long before our arrival, obviously..." he finished, waving a dismissive hand.

Mystel hid a snort behind a cough and backed away, heading for the only door. "Sure… well, might as well just go out and see. Wanna stretch my legs anyhow."

"Hey," Miguel called out just as his hand touched the door-handle. "Wait there a moment." When Mystel turned around again, he saw the captain was wearing his _'I know what you're up to and I don't like it'_ face.

"...what?" Mystel said, the trace of a smile creeping around his face.

"Look, I don't really care _what_ exactly you're thinking but just… remember what we're here for. Okay?" Miguel said, his tone quiet and not unfriendly at all, but still firm.

"I'm not sure what you mean," Mystel replied, flicking sharp blonde bangs out of his vision and eyeing his captain.

"I mean you," Miguel clarified, folding his arms, "and that captain's little sister. I saw you yesterday. You're getting too friendly, Mystel. We're not here to make –"

"– I know, I know," he cut in, growing a little impatient. The cabin was a little airless and, frankly, Mystel wanted as little to do with enclosed spaces as possible. He'd rather be out in the wide open air than stuck in this dingy hut listening to Miguel's little _'we have a job to do'_ speech again. The guy needed to hang loose a little, and learn to have fun on the job! "We're not here to make friends, just to weed out the competition and scout out the best for K. But... honestly, I don't think she even _cares_ what we do along the way, so long as we –"

"– It isn't K I'm concerned about," Miguel cut in, catching his eye. She was the one they took orders from, but they all knew they came from a higher power. A power Mystel didn't really want to think too much about first thing in the morning.

He rolled his eyes. "Alright. Whatever."

"And it isn't _him,_ either. It's you, Mystel." That caught his attention, as he wasn't exactly expecting that change in direction.

Matilda was still sitting on the floor by the gently smoking embers of the fire, watching their conversation with large eyes. Brooklyn appeared to be ignoring everything.

Miguel continued. "Look, do whatever you want, you always do. Be nice, get their trust, fine. But in a month's time when everything's put into motion, do you think the White Tigers or anyone else will trust us then? Or even like us?"

Mystel looked off to the side and narrowed his eyes. He supposed he looked like some kind of toddler being scolded. Of course they wouldn't be liked. He knew why he was sent to the tournament, and it wasn't pretty. But it wasn't something he could get out of, even if he wanted to. And truth was, he didn't want to. He _couldn't_ want to. It was… complicated.

"Of course they'll like us." Clear blue eyes snapped up to gaze over Miguel's shoulder at Brooklyn. "Or at least, they will if they have any sense," the redhead continued. "BEGA is giving them each a chance to become something… greater than themselves." Then Brooklyn turned his head and caught Mystel's eyes directly with a dark, greenish gaze. "If they fail to appreciate that then whatever happens afterwards is, frankly, their own problem."

A strange and uncomfortable silence followed afterwards. But then Brooklyn smiled, the dark glint in his eye replaced by an unassuming lightness. Sometimes, Mystel wondered whether he imagined it. But he knew better.

"But that's just my opinion," he finished, turning to look back out of the window.

Mystel managed to resist the urge to say that no one asked for it. "Alright.., well, whatever. I'm still heading out anyway," he shrugged, stepping back and turning around again to open the only door.

"Fine," Miguel shrugged right back, placing hands in his pockets. "Oh, and don't forget –"

"– Yeah yeah, I know," Mystel said, waving him off as he stepped through the gap in the door. He placed his golden visor back over his eyes and twisted around. Through the closing gap in the door, he gave a cocky salute and half a grin that he knew the captain probably missed, before disappearing off into the trees.

Mystel bounded off vaguely in the direction Brooklyn nodded, thinking again how weird the redhead's thing with nature was. He would've said that was a little unsettling, sometimes, just how sure of himself he always was – if that assuredness was the only thing unsettling about him.

Shrugging it off, the blonde jumped lithely through the trees, reveling in the way the air rippled through his clothes and whipped through his hair with each leap. It felt like pure, unbridled freedom, and it was his favourite thing in the world. He wasn't going to bother denying it. Mystel was flighty. He reveled in this freedom, in trying anything and going anywhere, no strings attached. He wanted the fresh air in his hair, and not the closed restriction of that cabin and Miguel's advice.

Unfortunately for him, it was this flightiness that got him involved with BEGA to begin with, an intricate web that he just couldn't find a way out of. He ignored it for the most part, and made the most of it's perks. That was just his way.

"Dammit 'Riah, how are you even this fast? You've got stupid girly hips, you're not supposed to be... aerodynamic!"

Mystel paused at the sound of the voice, and his keen ears caught a peal of laughter and a teasing reply. Speaking of perks...

"What on earth, Kevin… aerodynamic? Ha! Maybe that goofy little ponytail of yours is messing up _your_ aerodynamics."

"You leave my ponytail alone!"

Mystel sniggered as he listened in on the exchange and then made a bee-line for the voices, expecting to intercept them somewhere. What he didn't expect was for a rush of green to suddenly appear from the trees and almost take his head off. Quick reflexes allowed him to duck and avoid being knocked unconscious, but the little green 'Tiger wasn't quite as lucky.

"Waaahh, you –!" he managed to blurt out incoherently as he twisted to the side to avoid colliding with him. But his foot slipped on the next branch and he fell down to the ground below, landing on his backside with a dull thud, leaving Mystel to ponder about the slight waft of fish that lingered in the air as he hung easily from the tree with one hand.

Chuckling lightly, the blonde decided he'd better check in on the little guy and see if he was okay. The little guy's comic entrance was quite the well-timed, welcome distraction. Mystel dropped down, flipping over once in the air and landed neatly on his feet beside Kevin just as he was picking himself up and dusting his backside off, grumbling.

"Show off," he muttered, "just how d'you make that look so easy?"

Mystel grinned and winked. "Because it _is_ easy, my little friend." The green haired imp narrowed his eyes, and readjusted what looked like a string of brownish-grey fish over his shoulder.

"Hey, Kevin, I heard a girly scream. Are you alright?"

Mystel looked up in time to see pink in the trees. Mariah blinked, the concern on her face misting to surprise and then recognition as her eyes drifted to Mystel. She smiled.

"Oh, good morning! What are you doing all the way out here?"

"I might ask you the same thing," he called up at her, placing a hand on his hip and adopting a tone of mock-accusation. "You aren't trying to ditch us now, are you?"

"Huh? No," Mariah said, grinning a little smugly. "We were out by the river getting breakfast for you all, actually." She pulled out a string of fish similar to Kevin's with a flourish and brandished them at him. Then she dropped down out of the tree too, and the fish and the tendrils of her long, pink hair trailed out behind her in the air.

"Nice catch," Mystel said, gesturing to their haul. He held out his hand and Mariah handed him the line of fish – smallish, grey and brown, some with slight accents of red. "...Trout?" he asked?

"I think so..." she said. Then she shrugged and laughed.

Mystel didn't know why, but he held on to the sound. It reminded him of… childhood, he would've said, if it didn't sound so stupid. But listening to it made him feel like he was twelve years old again when the sun was bright, the breeze was light and he had his first taste of freedom. And it just felt good to remember that, he guessed. Maybe he was making a subconscious effort to be around this girl. Maybe Miguel was right and he should try to keep his distance.

"Well, we only ever catch carp back home," Mariah continued, snapping the blonde out of his momentary reverie. "And this isn't carp."

"Looks nice though," he said, shooting a little enthusiasm into his voice. It wasn't that much of an effort though. He _was_ starving. "Gonna fry it up?"

"Sure," she said.

"Yeah," Kevin said, joining in now that he'd sufficiently massaged his backside back to health. "Lee 'n Gary are lagging behind with the water for some rice, too."

"Sounds like a feast," Mystel said.

"Sure is," Mariah replied with a grin and sparkling eyes. "White Tiger Hills style, our treat!"

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN: **So yeah, here it is. Hope it hasn't been a big fat anti-climax... xD Lol, if there is much OCC going on here, I do apologize. I'm trying to keep them as close to their show characters as possible, but I just struggle with these third season guys. :/ And also, I'm still trying to get a feel for their characters for THIS STORY, since I'm not playing them straight canon anyway. Call it Artistic License. Call it bluffing through a fail. Whatever, I'm trying my best T_T xDD  
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_And I know, I know what you're thinking, it's shorter than the previous chapters. But hey, they were getting too long anyway. xD But I hope you liked it all the same. Any questions, feel free to drop me a PM. Just a reminder for those of you who don't read author profiles – I will only be updating stories once a month from now. Unless I'm struck by the inspiration fairy, which isn't happening a whole lot these days. T_T  
><em>

_**Next chapter: **...October?  
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_~ Indie  
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